


Threats of Violence (Ticci Toby X Reader

by Absence_Of_The_Sun



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Blood and Violence, Domestic Violence, F/M, Kidnapping, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29135151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Absence_Of_The_Sun/pseuds/Absence_Of_The_Sun
Summary: Amelia May Havenswood went missing 9 days and 181 days ago, missing, assumed dead. Authorities assumed it was a tragic, but small mystery, that the girl was lost or murdered in the woods, but you've always thought it was more sinister than that.Who could have told you not to go looking for secrets so easy to find?This is a fucked up slow burn with harsh depictions of violence- read intro for further information.
Relationships: Tobias Erin "Toby" Rogers|Ticci Toby/Reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 31
Collections: creepypasta stories





	1. Welcome

WARNING- PLEASE READ: This book features depictions of violence and torture, unhealthy power dynamics, underage drinking, underage smoking, foul language, death, heavy anxiety/paranoia, stalking and kidnapping. I would recommend you at least be 16 to read this. 

Do not read if you are underage, do not take anything in this book as true. Certain illegal actions are romanticised in this book or written so as to give a 'pretty' aesthetic (eg-smoking/ weaponry), I do not condone anything I write about. This book is FOR FUN and not to be taken literally or inspired by.

The characters of Sarah, Will, Clara, James and Lee are my own. All other named characters belong to their respective owners with my own take and adaptations.

This is not a healthy depiction of love, nor will it be cute or sweet most of the time. If anything, the romantics of this book correspond with Stockholm syndrome. Its a book, don't get on my ass for unhealthy depictions and don't be upset if the characters aren't similar to the ones you've seen in other fic's. 

I also cant lie as a feminist I am disappointed in my own characterisation, there will be degrading slurs and actions.

This is a fucked up slow-burn.

BUT if you have any original ideas that you would like to see in here, I will happily take concepts and give credit if it works in the story, just hit me up. I have a baseline but for the most part I'm making it up as I go along.

Very brief introduction- My names Immie and this is my first Reader Insert Fanfic in a seriously long time, I don't think ive ever even written a Creepypasta Fic but I've had the idea for this one for quite a while.

In case you didn't know, this will be a Reader X Ticci Toby, with no disrespect to Kastoway. He will not be the usual childish, broken character often written but more of an energetic raging lunatic so be aware.

I will post TW's for especially gory or explicit scenes (though I have no plans of writing anything particularly dirty) but won't be mentioning them for swearing, while I will be using a lot throughout the book to please keep that in mind.

I may not use descriptive terms for the reader often as I think its more immersive to just imagine yourself as them, but if I do, these are the meanings.

(Y/N) - Your Name

(Y/M/N) - Your Mothers Name

(Y/F/N) - Your Fathers Name

(L/N) or (Y/L/N) - Your Last Name

(F/C) - Your Favourite Colour

(E/C) - Your Eye Colour

(H/C) - Your Hair Colour

If I forget any in the future and you don't understand, please give me a shout and I'll update the list.

PS: I am a Brit trying to write a fic that takes place in America and I am SORRY if I use the British words for things but quite frankly you don't deserve to call chips 'fries' so stfu

That is all! Thank you <3

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

P.S. if you click on this story you now have the moral obligation to like it, give it a heart you know you want to.

If you refrain I will be forced to take drastic measures that I do not condone.

Its not a threat unless you take it as one 😌


	2. Amelia May Havenswood: Lost

* * *

lost

/lɒst/

_adjective_

  1. 1\. 

_unable to find one's way; not knowing one's whereabouts._




* * *

Amelia May Havenswood went missing 9 years and 181 days ago. Thats 3,466 days, 83,184 hours, or 4,991,040 minutes. They say that the first 72 hours in a missing persons investigation are the most crucial in finding them. If the person in question is in grave danger or experienced critical injury, those 3 days are most likely all they have left. It is also easiest to find leads or clues to a persons whereabouts when their tracks are still fresh, and once those hours are up, investigations begin to slow down considerably.

This figure is slimmed even more when you take into account the area in which they disappeared. If a person goes missing in the forest or by the sea, search parties can be delayed massively just trying to navigate the given space, especially at night.

Children are the worst, and often one of the most common disappearances and almost always result in a more desperate mission to find them before those 72 hours are up. This is because children that go missing due to a force outside of their control are usually murdered, sometimes in the first three hours, typically within the first two days.

Amelia May Havenswood's case was no different to these statistics. Last spotted entering the woods by her house, 2 months before her 9th birthday, on the coldest night of the year. It didn't take long for her case to go cold; for her to be declared as 'Missing: Assumed Dead'. It seemed as though every risk factor was against her, each hour brought a new sense of dread and reluctant clarification. That Amelia May Havenswood wouldn't return from those woods. That she had been murdered, or lost, or simply frozen to death in the nights frigid temperatures. The blame was left with no one but a faceless possible somebody, with nothing to lead the police to whom. Everyone who saw her in those hours before her disappearance carried a little of it, forever wondering if they could have done something to stop that little girl from wondering into the woods alone.

But none more so than her best friend, because it wasn't just one little girl who found themselves twisted in the secrecy of that night, there were two, and only one made it back out.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

_**Welcome to my first Creepypasta Fanfiction! Honestly this idea has been plaguing me for so long and its really exciting to finally start writing it out. I know this chapter is super short but its not supposed to have a lot of storytelling. Just keep an open mind and share your thoughts (if you have any)** _

_**Thank you again!** _

**_Absence Of The Sun_ **


	3. Unnerve

* * *

unnerve

/ʌnˈnəːv/

_verb_

  1. _make (someone) lose courage or confidence._




* * *

**The 25th of May**

The late afternoon sky looked as though it stretched on forever, which, by human perspective, it does. Oceans of eery gold and bronze glazed above to meet the tallest buildings, shrouded by wisps of smoky white cloud, and the sun seemed to fade into the bright orange sky to create a mass of bright orange. It was the kind of colour that hangs like fog and airborne sand after a storm, filling the streets with an apocalyptic glow until nightfall, swimming in standstill between empty streets and faded trees.

You liked to watch these kinds of days, where the world didn't change but for the slow fade of colour and you couldn't count the different shades the sky held. The dry gravel of the roof ached the palm of your hand as you lean back on it, pulling loose strands out of your tights, scratching at the skin left behind, but you didn't mind. It was a soothing, grounding kind of pain. 

Gazing into that distance where pumpkin skies danced like liquid into the horizon, you rolled a cigarette between your fingers and finally breathed, watching the flaking grey tip fall in little rains of ash over your lap. Up there, exactly where you weren't supposed to be, you felt more calm than ever. Everything about your surroundings, from the unusual afternoon light to the strangely innocent woods, seemed so far away. You smiled deftly and took a drag, bathing in the bright glow of honey and amber coming to life where only grey remnants sat before, creeping slowly down the cigarette. The only thing that seemed to keep up with passing time was the diminishing burn between your fingers, filling your throat with an aching softness with each breath. You'd never loved the taste of cigarettes, nor the smell that hung off of your hair and clothes in the hours after, but every one was guiltily refreshing, especially those that took place on the roof, watching the world go by.

In the distance a shrill bell rung and you felt the gravel shake below as it echoed through brick and plaster. Of course, these things never lasted long. Sighing, you took the cigarette between your lips and inhaled loosely, pulling your arms through your jacket and letting the tobacco hang between your teeth. Only a little white paper now stood before the filter and you took it out of your mouth and pressed it into the bricks beside your hanging legs firmly. Arm still stretched over the side of the wall, you looked down properly at where your feet hung in midair. Only empty pavements and grass stretched across the ground so far below, still shining slightly in the strange orange light. The height didn't scare you like this, secure and safe, just so far above anything. The sounds of laughter and yelling woke you from your trance and, frowning, you swung your legs back onto solid concrete and edged away from the side of the roof, narrowly avoiding the first students to stroll onto the grounds for break. You'd only been caught up there once about a year ago and had learned to be a lot stealthier after months of people looking at you like you were suicidal. You weren't, you just enjoyed observation, feeling like time had stopped except for the whistle of cars, the changing of the sky, and you. 

Taking one last look at the world, now an even deeper gold, you snatched your bag from the ground and walked to the door, brushing the remaining gravel off of your palms and thighs as you descended the dark stairway to the upper corridor. The hallway was a flurry of rushing students and the dull clang of lockers. It was ten minutes until your next lesson but, un-regrettably, you wouldn't be going. Maths never had been your suit, most lessons weren't, but this was something far more important than trigonometry.

So, instead of making your way to the third floor to await an hour of hellish boredom, you put your headphones in your ears, kept your head down, and wandered across the grounds to the nearly empty library. Just thinking of your project gave you a nervous excitement that already had you craving another cigarette, but you ignored the desire, glaring through the golden ochre mist outside until you swung the doors open and made your way to the school computers.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Tuscaloosa is the kind of town that fades and curls up, forgotten behind cities like New York and Los Angeles. In truth, there is very little worth saying about such an insignificant little town. Or, at least, you would want outsiders to know.

Alabama isn't ever going to be the most popular of places with its given reputation, but Tuscaloosa holds a trophy for the amount of strange and unreported crime. It would look practically squeaky clean if not for the locals, all of which knowing something of the dark secrets hidden between thick trees and dark nights. Anyone who had been there for any period of time would say that the town is a curse from the moment you step into it- a curse that will follow you for the rest of your life, whether you stay there or not.

Because, if there's one mystery that rages rampantly through the quaint, little town, its the strange, unexplainable disappearances that never end up reported.

Of course, no one would miss a homeless man no longer blocking the stairs of an old apartment complex, or a whack job neighbour moving out of the state after subjecting the locals to years worth of conspiracy theories. You wouldn't think about what the homeless person saw on the streets of Tuscaloosa, what possibilities lie beneath the senseless ramblings of conspiracies. It's hard to pay attention through the thick fog of ignorance people drink into their systems.

It's always little cases like those, dotted between miles of normality, that go completely unnoticed despite their odd occurrences. In actuality, Tuscaloosa has one of the highest crime rates of any other city, though that blooms in the Southern and Western areas, It's just that when you look between the lines, you see the things no one ever wants to look at. Behind fine lines are the twists that go undiscovered, the books pushed to the back of the case to accumulate dust. Unreported, unnoticed, or too haunting to truly delve into; That's the heart of Tuscaloosa, and you managed to wind up slap-bang in the middle of one of the most disturbing cases in recent city history.

Most only remember the case behind years of clouded memory, even you found yourself tearing out your hair for years trying to work out what truly remembered, trying to part the fogged tendrils clasping at your mind. It never worked.

9 years and 181 days ago, Amelia May Havenswood wandered into the woods that lined Tuscaloosa with her best friend and only you walked out; scared, shivering, alone. 

Her story was one remembered, despite the blind eye to so many, though no one could ever know what happened in the woods because for some god-forsaken reason, you forgot yourself. But that would change, it was changing, because sat in that dusty library, head pounding as the hour ticks by, you were once again glaring at a bright, half written page, begging for answers.

It's difficult to explain why, after so many years, you finally decided to open Amelia's case again on your own, clinging to old reports, sightings, and just about anything that could hint at what happened to that little girl two months before her ninth birthday. Everyone forgets with time, or at least they find a way to move on, but everyone knew that Amelia's disappearance wasn't normal, nor your memory loss. You were just the only one still willing to work it out.

So you sat, fumbling between pages of your notebook and occasionally glancing up at the bright white of your laptop, once again piecing it all together. In all honesty, you'd come a lot farther than you'd ever imagined, though not quite willing to share your own finds with others. You saw between those details though in your months of work, looked deeper into grainy photos, each turning up the same thing. Either carved into a nearby tree or somehow worked into reports in the form of thick words that joined together when you squint your eyes. Everywhere, littered from Amelia's case to so many others, was the dreaded symbol you knew so well. A deep, black circle, crossed with the sharp X. Nameless, faceless, branded with a ⨂. That much you knew for sure. It beamed up at you from the front of your black spiral notebook, painted in red the moment you realised the correlation, or carved into the roots of ancient trees. You knew it meant something and had done for many years, you were now just faced with the act of finding out what. It would have been a lot easier if the internet had anything on the bloody thing.

Eventually though, after an hour of research, nothing new, and possibly the worst headache of your life, you gave up for the day, logging off of the free wifi and sliding your laptop and notebook back into your bag. Classes would have nearly been up for the day and you had to come up with another reason later as to why maths just wasn't possible to attend.

Sighing, you slung the bag over your shoulder and ducked back outside to where the atmosphere had settled into a slightly less apocalyptic shade of tulip pink and a few students were beginning to mingle before the bell sent them home. You ignored them, picking up the pace as you raced along the tarmac to the gates to wait outside.

The bell sounded after an achingly long time, dull from within the building, and you leaned against the bricks outside until a hand finally landed on your shoulder, pulling you out of your daze.

"Anything new, Mrs Conspiracy?" You cracked a smile as Will grinned at you, eyes tired after a day of school. Besides him standed your best friend, Sarah, looking equally as ready to go home.

Your friendship with Sarah nearly dated back to the days of Amelia, though she remembered far less than you and had supported you through the brunt of the trauma. Standing just a little shorter than yourself, she gazed at you through nearly black eyes and even darker hair, tinted with thick highlights of teal and electric blue. Her pale skin and fair complexion added to an all around edgy look, but you knew her better. Sarah was the type of person to cry over TV shows about vets saving kittens and you knew for a fact that she once skipped school because a bird flew into her bedroom window and she had to try to nurse it back to health; It bit her and she had to go to the hospital, but it's the thought that counts.

Will, on the other hand, was a lot closer to your own height, nearly the exact same, with strangely light blue eyes and ruffled blonde hair that befitted most of the American teenage population. He looked practically childish next to Sarah, sporting layers of black and green in comparison to his common reds and blues, but if anything, he was more edgy than her. You smiled tiredly and pressed a kiss into his cheek, plainly ignoring Sarahs gag at the sight of you. You had been dating for just over a year after an awkward period of tween flirting, and you were proud to call him as much a boyfriend as a best friend

"Yeah, no need for that, I was traumatised enough when I walked in on my parents in bed," She scoffed, grinning as you began to walk. "And I never quite recovered."

"You walked in on your parents.. doing?" Will left his question hanging in mid air as you giggled.

"Yup, I was six," She replied, looking into the distance dramatically. "Nothing brings me back to that horror as much as you two making out in-front of the school."

"Okay, we do not make out," You gasped jokingly, now laughing as Will rested an arm around your shoulder. "And if you want to join us.." You wiggled your eyebrows suggestively and snorted.

Sarah made an odd noise between a giggle and a wretch, pressing her hand over her mouth. "You couldn't pay me enough."

"Your loss," Will shrugged as you fumbled in your pocket for your cigarettes, stretching one passed him to a clearly struggling Sarah. "But if you two are gonna try to destroy my lungs again all afternoon, I'm going home now."

"Oh shut up," You rolled your eyes, flicking your thumb against your lighter until your skin bathed in the small golden glow of the lit tip. He recoiled his arm in exaggerated disgust as you took a drag and blew the smoke at him before letting it seep into your lungs.

"You disgust me, I don't know why I date you." He pressed his lips together.

"Hmm, probably my charming personality and killer looks." You smiled cheekily.

Sarah snickered, trying to hold her cigarette between her lips as she strolled. "I mean, I would."

The walk continued in occasional friendly bickering for the 20 minutes it took to get home and you each kicked off your shoes as you stumbled your way into the comforting warmth of your empty house. Most days went like this, with Will and Sarah joining you after school until nightfall. It helped with the silence that came with working parents and siblings already in university and you enjoyed your post work ramblings, occupying your mind.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

"So," Will began, draped over a beanbag on the floor of your bedroom, freshly cooked chicken strip in one hand and cider can in the other. "You never told us if you found any more conspiracies."

You looked to Sarah questioningly, sat next to you on the bed, who returned your gaze with a curious shrug and apologetic smile. Sighing, you turned back to your boyfriend.

"Nothing new really, I'm still stuck on the symbol," You stated, fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

"I thought you got that weeks ago?" Sarah frowned, moving off of the bed to fumble around within your schoolbag until she located your laptop and notebook. The two hadn't been ecstatic at your sudden, unhealthy interest in your childhood best friends disappearance, but they shared a joined curiosity in the theories that came out of it, no matter how ridiculous and far-fetched.

"I did," You groaned, ignoring her as she opened the laptop to examine your work, lighting up your somewhat dark room as the evening darkness cast shadowed through your window. "There is absolutely nothing."

Will shuffled forward, moving the bowl of half eaten chicken onto the centre of the bed as he leaned onto the mattress, knees pressed into the wooden floorboards. He moved his pale blue eyes to rest uncertainly on the branded notebook, but shifted his focus as Sarah let out a confused giggle.

"What the hell were you looking up to find yourself on cleverbot?" She mused, lifting the laptop off of her thighs to sit atop your pillows, giving all three of you clear viewing of the screen. Your brain clouded over- what the hell...?

"I wasn't on cleverbot," You frowned, squinting at the white light beaming into your face. Rainbow letters hovered above a message bar, a single text written by the bot.

_'Give up.'_

"What the fuck.." Will pulled the notebook off the bed to sit beside you and Sarah, eyes set on the message. "I didn't think those bots could message you first."

"I didn't know bots could start a conversation when you didn't open them." You rolled your eyes, though slightly, unexplainably nervous, and leaned forward to close the tab. Nothing happened. Your eyes widened slightly, finger hovering above the mousepad, before bringing it back down and scrolling towards the exit button again.

Click.

Nothing.

"What the fuck's wrong with your laptop?" Sarah shuffled forward and tried to exit herself, meeting the same webpage refusal. "What dodgy sites have you been on?"

"None!" You exclaimed, worry for your laptop seeping in. What if you had a virus?

She clicked relentlessly but Cleverbot stayed open, its bright letters mocking you slightly. "Hold on," She mumbled, edging backwards to give you all a clear view once more and began to type. 

_'What do you mean?'_

_..._

You all waited in anticipation, lips between your teeth.

_'You heard me.'_

Wills sighed, letting out a bark of laughter as the heavy tension began to loosen. "Christ, it's just a bot."

You joined in nervously, but Sarah remained focused on the page, her fingers once again tapping over the keyboard.

_'Give up what?'_

"Sarah It's-" You were cut off as Cleverbots reply popped above the message bar.

_'Research.'_

All the air stored seemed to leave your body in one great crash, ice filling your veins as you read and reread its words, all too soon '...' appearing again.

_'And I'm not talking to you.'_

Sarah instantly recoiled, pulling her hands back from the laptop so quickly she nearly fell backwards as the mattress sprung to support her shifted weight. No one seemed to be able to breathe, all too focused on the haunting words before them. "Thats not-"

"It's a fucking virus," Will said shakily, moving forward and pressing a finger down firmly on the power button. A part of you almost expected the screen to stay brightly lit, but it instead faded to the usual black, casting you all in an eery, silent darkness. Sarah laughed nervously, flicking on your bedside lamp almost as soon as the darkness invaded the space. "I just got a bit carried away."

You didn't look at her, attention instead stuck on your laptop as Will flipped it back open and pressed the reboot button, praying to any god you can think of that, virus or not, you were met with your usual wallpaper. You weren't sure what exactly it was that unnerved you so much about the simple program- whether it was the fact that it somehow referenced your project or the idea of it actually being some virus. It was quite frankly ridiculous to assume 'Cleverbot' could possibly not only know about the research, but also the fact that it was not you typing out the return messages, and a tiny voice in your head screamed with reason that it was just a coincidence, the other half reeking of sudden dread. 

After an agonisingly long amount of time, the disturbing white light once again flickered on to Cleverbot and your breath hitched. The previous conversation had been wiped clean with only one line left from the other end, to which you could only assume was directed towards Will.

_'You shouldn't have done that.'_

The page finally closed, revealing the picture behind of you, Sarah, Will, and your three other friends standing side by side, but nothing relieved the tension wrapped around your shoulders, weighing you into the mattress.

"What was that?" You whispered as Will finally regained the ability to move and shut the laptop with a resounding 'click'.

"It was a virus." He said firmly, jaw tight.

"That _thing_ knew what we were doing!" Sarah gazed at him with wide eyes, pointing an accusatory finger towards the closed device.

"That _thing_ probably just came up as some creepy warning for a dodgy website," The boy argued back, seemingly trying to stabilise the shaky edge in his voice. "Or, like I said, it's just a virus."

"Viruses don't know when you shut a laptop on them," You muttered, staring numbly at the technology still rested on the pillows.

"It didn't," Will nudged your shoulder, trying to catch your eye.

"Didn't you see the last message? _'You shouldn't have done that?'"_ Sarah cried, clearly distressed. "Thats not fucking normal."

Neither you nor Will had any response to that, letting her statement rest awkwardly between you all. In your mind, she was right, it wasn't normal for a computer program to have such accurate knowledge of a persons actions, but then again, they were fairly generic answers- something a bot could learn from strangers conversations, or could be programmed with. They were versatile, they could work with anything said to them.... surely.

But despite that voice of reason echoing in your mind, nothing could dull the freezing shock still swimming in your bloodstream. Not even when the tension died down a little and you all opened a fresh can of cider, hoping to laugh away the slightly terrifying interaction. The feeling of being watched seeped into every pore of your body and sent off alarm signals that pumped your blood so fast you could practically hear your heart thump within your chest, only worsening when Sarah and Will bid their goodbyes. Nothing could keep your mind off the bots words, even as you attempted to sleep, listening to the sounds of your mom getting in from a late shift.

_'I'm not talking to you.'_

_'You shouldn't have done that.'_

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

**Wow well that took a little longer than expected! If you've made it this far, thank you for giving this story a shot, I promise it gets more interesting, I'm just trying to build up to the good stuff.**

**I also don't remember the last time I wrote a third person reader insert so, if you get the chance, please let me know if they are any mistakes or anything, it would be massively appreciated.**

**Also, you have no idea how difficult it was for me not to say 'fag' every time I wrote cigarette I am struggling to bare with me.**

**Well, until next time ;)**


	4. Watched

* * *

watch

/wɒtʃ/

_verb_

  1. 1\. 

_look at or observe attentively over a period of time._




* * *

**26th of May**

The next morning came with a headache almost worse than yesterdays, something far too extreme for the ciders you'd shared last night. It throbbed from your temples and ached with such intensity, you felt as though your head was crumbling inwards from the sides. Rolling over, you fumbled in your drawers until you found the little red box labelled 'Ibuprofen', throwing two back without any water and stumbled out of bed, cursing.

The morning light came in a healthy morning yellow which shined in between your thin, white curtains in patches of dusty gold, worsening the pressure in your head despite the refreshing shine. It reflected off your vanity in an array of colours and you threw apart the fabric to look out at the world, fingers rubbing your temples in an attempt to ease the pain. Thankfully for you, it was a Saturday, meaning you could happily lull about the house without worrying about schoolwork or social interactions, however the memories of the night before struck you with a pang as you gazed out into the woods clouting the horizon, a few miles away.

Regretfully, you turned your head from the window to face your laptop, sitting innocently on your desk as though nothing happened. You almost didn't want to look at it, but a burning curiosity filled you to the tips of your fingers and you found yourself walking over to it, placing your thumb over the opening ridge.

'This is fucking ridiculous', you mused, rubbing your eyes with the other hand as you flipped it open.

Just your wallpaper. No cleverbot, no cryptic messages, nothing. You breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of you, Will, Sarah and your other friends grinning happily from the bright screen, practically falling over yourselves in an attempt to fit into the frame of the picture.

Sitting down, now happy that you don't have to worry about the stalker virus of last night, you drew your attention to the little email icon, flashing red with a new message, the timestamp reading 9:43AM. You frowned and glanced at the time- 11:28AM- you'd overslept and by quite a lot considering the fairly early night you'd had. It was a Saturday, you supposed, but you still cursed yourself for losing so much time of your precious weekend and drew your attention back to the email.

**SENDER: Will Harringmore**

**\- Found this when I got home, think its your symbol?**

**[Attachment File:[youtube.com/user/MarbleHornets](https://www.youtube.com/user/MarbleHornets)]**

Your eyes practically lit up, completely forgetting the burning in your brain as you clicked on the attachment in record speeds, bringing you to a YouTube page. 'The Marble Hornets'.

It wasn't the name that interested you though, but instead the glaring black and white symbol featured as the pages profile picture; a blinding circle with an 'X' running through the middle. You didn't take the time to email Will back, thanking him relentlessly for the find, but instead found yourself greedily transfixed on the countless entries uploaded to the channel, all dating back six years ago. You clicked on the first entry.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Pictures blared from within your brain, screaming your name as they flashed past. Trees, winding roots, darkness, a face, a screaming girl, an unhealthily pale face, running, ice, snow, **_no face_** , a bright red circle with an X running through.

Your headache only grew worse as you mindlessly bored into video after video, attention rapt upon the story. It couldn't be real, you knew that. None of it could possibly be real. It had to be a coincidence, or some guy finding the same as symbol as you and making a story out of it, but that white face seemed so familiar. Everything about their story seemed too familiar. By the time the afternoon rolls by, you had your teeth clenched tightly and notebook out, scribbling down any notes worth taking that could link up to Amelia.

As soon as you felt you had watched enough of 'The Marble Hornets', you moved your search onto the terrifying nightmare that the men had been subjected to in the clips, your mind hooked like a woman addicted as you pondered the internet. 'Faceless man' only brought you to The Game of Thrones Wiki, briefing the characters that could change faces, and you were sure as hell that... thing wasn't created by George R.R Martin. Biting your lip, you clicked on images, certain that this particular man had no face to change to and that was when you found it. 'The faceless man.'

_'The faceless man, otherwise known as The Operator, is a supposed supernatural being most recently brought to light by the YouTube channel 'Marble Hornets'. Pictures of the being date back as far as 15th century Germany, depicting a tall man with elongated arms and legs. **He has no face.** Theorists believe this creature to be of demonic history, holding the ability to manipulate its victims into an inescapable death, warp reality, and dwell within a pocket dimension of its own creation while still holding the potential to slip between its world and our own to hunt.'_

A picture stuck out to you beside the text that you couldn't rip your eyes away from- An aged, black and white photo of a sour looking young boy glaring into the camera in front of what you assume to be schoolmates. The photo was grainy and made your eyes strain even more, but at the very back, unnoticed by the children, stood an impossibly tall creature, barely decipherable with the technology used, but undeniable all the same. It felt as though time itself stopped completely and you had the unreasonable temptation to laugh. Half of you looked at this compilation of myths and potentially real videos and wanted to discredit every single ridiculous aspect of it, while the other bared an unfathomable sense of foreboding at the subject.

With the light from the window now slipping through the glass in shades of blue and pink, you finally sighed, finished your notes and shut the screen of your laptop, adding a mental note to write an official page for your project on The Faceless Man and your findings later. You crumpled up the series of used crisp packets and juice boxes used throughout your information-binge and and dumped them unceremoniously into the bin before making your way downstairs. Once again, the house was completely empty, with your parents only days off being a Sunday and Monday with both working almost constantly, and seeing as the time was half five and you replaced your meals of the day with complete junk, you started going about making dinner.

As you waited for pasta to boil, you opened up your phone for the first time that day to see a collection of notifications and groaned at the subjects.

_10:30am: SarahPriv17 - Hey girl_

_10:41am: WillHton - Hey did you see my email?_

_11:03am: SarahPriv17 - Wake tf up_

_11:03pm: SarahPriv17 - Dumbass_

_12:13pm: WillHton - Tell me you aren't bingeing Marble Hornets_

_1:46pm: WillHton - I regret sending them to you_

_2:41pm: WillHton - Give me attention_

Rolling your eyes, you smirked, sending each a quick hello and decided not to get into detail with Will about your new obsession. Their replies came back almost immediately.

_5:46pm: SarahPriv17 - Fuck me girl good morning_

_5:46pm: WillHton - You were watching Marble Hornets, weren't you?_

You actually laughed this time, thankful for a break of non stop research to finally have a somewhat sane conversation. You sent quick replies as you dumped a pot of sauce in with the now cooked pasta and started to stir absentmindedly until steam billowed from the pan in thin wisps of white smoke. As you dished a third into your bowl, boxing the rest and storing it in the fridge for your parents, the 'ding' of a message drew your attention back to your phone, still laying face up on the counter. You picked it up and checked the notifications as you picked up your dinner, heading to the table, but the message left you stuck still mid-step, nearly dropping both the bowl and your phone in the process.

_6:02pm: 01001111 - You should have listened._

A sick feeling rose from your stomach straight up to your spinning head, plunging you back into the ice cold nerves of the night before. 'This isn't real, this can't be happening..'

Rushing to put the bowl down, you opened up the messages and fumbled a response with shaky hands.

_6:03pm: Me - 'Who the hell is this?'_

It took seconds for the reply to come, even more terrifying than the first from the unknown sender.

_6:03pm: 01001111 - You were warned_

You didn't get the chance to think of what to say when another icon appeared.

_6:03pm: 01001111 - The game is on._

Numb shock prevented you from actually thinking, from screenshooting or saving the messages and before you got the chance to recollect your thoughts, and the app closed itself. You scrambled to open your messages back up again, frantically tapping on the lagging screen until they appeared once more, but no history of your interactions with '0100111' followed them. Resisting the temptation to scream or throw your phone at the wall, you whipped your head around to check your surroundings, suddenly extremely cautious for any eyes on you. It seemed completely ridiculous to be so paranoid in your own kitchen with the doors all locked, but the sudden feeling of an animal in a cage entrapped you and you couldn't quite kick it. Your pasta bowl lay forgotten and going steadily cold beside you.

When the 'ding' of your phone once again sounded, you nearly jumped out of your skin, drawing it up to eyesight so quickly you nearly hit yourself in the forehead with the device, but sighed thankfully as Sarah's name was the one to ignite your screen. _'Wanna head out tonight? Everyone's free.'_

You felt slightly fuzzy and faint as relief washed through your system. In all honesty, you really felt could do with getting out of the house.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

As it turned out, you were completely right in your decision to leave the house. The bright lights of the nearby bowling alley and comfort of friends at least somewhat took your mind off the impending doom of the slightly horrifying messages, nearly forgetting about them completely in the midst of your high-stakes game.

"That was pathetic!" Clara, a tiny, olive skinned girl with short, curly hair and deep green eyes exclaimed as her boyfriends bowling ball plummeted straight into the gutter with a clang. You laughed as he straightened up, looking at the lane as though disbelieved that his wonky throw could have gone so horrendously wrong.

"How did you even manage that?" You chimed in, grinning. Clara's boyfriend, James, was quite possibly the lankiest person you had ever met, with short black hair and the body of a person who had grown far to quickly in a short space of time, despite the fact that he'd been the same towering height three years ago when you first met.

"Great skill and dexterity," He winked, shooting you all a thumbs up as he sat back down, the screen above your heads flashing a bright, obnoxious '0!'. "Your turn, Lee."

Lee, on the other hand, had more of a rugby player build with a shorter, stockier frame and dark brown curls slicked back more neatly into an off-quiff. 

Clara, James and Lee didn't go to your high school, but rather the neighbouring College, each a year your senior. You met them through Will a few years ago and never looked back from your friendship, despite not always being able to see them quite as often as you would have preferred.

"That's a strike mate," Lee mocked sarcastically, shrugging. "If you want, I can teach you."

"Oh, piss off," James laughed as Lee demonstrated a very simple motion of throwing something in a straight line. The previous events of the night faded into darkness behind bright pink and blue neon lights and the resounding clash of bowling balls meeting the polished wood of the lanes. It blocked the fear out of your mind, too entrapped in the idle chatter around you. "You're up, (Y/N)."

" _You're_ on," You snapped back, mischievously, looping your fingers within the confines of a marbled green ball and lugging it into position. The laughter clouded behind you as you focused on the target ahead; ten gleaming white pins, striped bright red in the distance. Narrowing your eyes, you hugged the smooth weight to your chest before letting it glide behind you, the weight dragging it back to your hips as you crouched slightly and released. The ball hit the wood with an echoing 'BANG' and glided fluidly at and angle, arching towards the heavenly gates of a strike. Your eyes lit up, ready to let out a victorious whoop, when it dipped on the runway and innocently rolled into the gutter, the ring of it meeting metal overshadowed by the light-hearted laughter behind you.

"Fuck," You breathed out, disappointed yet smiling as Sarah took your place, ball already in hand.

"And you thought my throw was shit?" James remarked, dumbfounded, lips parted in sarcastic disbelief. His arm was draped around Claras shoulders, the other clasped his drink, and you sat down with a 'Hmph' beside them, dramatically, helping yourself to a small bowl of salted peanuts on the table opposite.

"Your throw was shit, I wasn't wrong," You deadpanned, shrugging as you attempted, and failed, to throw a peanut into your open mouth from above.

The bowling wrapped up quicker than you expected, drifting away in bright lights and sweet drinks and laughter between friends. The night was still young, so you piled yourselves into Lee's beaten up pickup the early night, the only car of the group able to hold six people, with an awkward seat in front of the stiff gearstick. Back in the mid 90's, the truck could have been almost stylish, possibly even red, but now it's an off-pinkish orange, with so many scuffs and rust stains it could have passed for light brown. He inherited it from his dad, who upgraded his ancient truck to a slightly less ancient truck when Lee passed his test, and liked to lovingly call the battered bucket 'Iron man', for its supposed once bright colour and inability to ever break, no matter how many walls he reversed it into.

You drove through the dying streets of Tuscaloosa, giggling and singing off key to the old rock cassette tapes jumbled in the glove box from Lee's father youth. His music taste had been passed down to his son, which he therefor passed onto you, not entirely unwillingly.

_'Power Wolves Beset Your Door, Hear Them Stalking'_

You hummed along to the familiar lyrics, swaying your body awkwardly while wedged between Sarah and Will, both thrashing their limbs and laughing along to the music. The menacing height of the woods approached, faster than you'd expect. Their favourite place to hang out was in a small clearing a little way in, where you'd once found a beaten up, abandoned cabin just off the main track. You had never been a fan of the arching trees, confining you in a prison of unfaltering darkness, and they understood that, but the clearing was big enough to feel as though you could breathe and on the opposite side of town to where Amelia disappeared. You'd managed so far.

Still, the clashing of music and screamed lyrics faded into the background as you fixed your gaze ahead. In the last slips of light from the beaming sun, the trees looked a threatening black, merely silhouettes of billowing shadow aching to grasp you tightly within their spindly grips.

_'Soon You'll Please Their Appetite, They Devour'_

You shook yourself out of your daze, forcing lyrics past your lips as your head bobbed to the rhythm. A cold feeling swept from your fingertips to your forehead as you bit your lip and averted your eyes to Sarah, thrashing her dark hair up and down with the song.

'Everything's fine.'

The drive from the mouth of the woods to the clearing wasn't long but the path was winding. The stereo began to crackle slightly the further you drove in, eased only by a few not-so-gentle whacks from a half concentrated Lee as a very dull rumble of static emitted from the speakers, barely noticeable over the head pounding thrum of beaten drums and screaming guitar.

_'Nothing Can Save You'_

Lee shut off the truck with a final roar and swung his door open, the rest of you following suit as you screeched into an opening of trees emerging from a small off-road. The sky was a mix of dusty purple and blue, glinting with early white stars and dark wisps of cloud. Sarah rummaged around in her pocket for a moment as the others grabbed their bags and some drinks from the back of the truck and offered you a crinkled cigarette as you begin to walk. You gladly accepted it, retrieving your lighter from your back pocket as you trundled forward and, shielding it from the gentle evening breeze, grazed the wheel with your thumb to spark it to life with a steady yellow flame, illuminating your fingers and the tip of your nose in flickering golden light for a moment before the cigarette catches. White smoke arced and glided though the air as it burned through to ash and you were thankful for the numbing that followed, coating your mind in a thick blanket as the nicotine ebbed into your bloodstream. You knew it isn't healthy, quite frankly it was rather disgusting and left a dry smell of smoke in your hair, but you enjoyed the momentary pauses of calmness.

The walk to the little cabin was a short one, full of giggles and stumbling over emerging roots and uneven footing, and the sight of the rotting wood was very welcome. The night want a particularly cold one, spring just about upon you, but you found yourself wrapping your light jacket around your frame as you approached, giddy at the thought of both the dodgy fireplace inside and finding some shelter from the threatening darkness around you.

"Home sweet home," Will stated, pushing the rickety old door aside as you stumbled in, met with the earthy smell of old wood and stale smoke.

The cabin was far from the grandest abandoned structure in history. Its brown leather sofa was lumpy and discoloured with stains from unknown origins and sat atop a faded, damp rug. On one side of the room was a tiny kitchen featuring a few broken cabinets and a rusty, broken oven. You once found a few matching chairs in a junkyard to sit idly around the bar separating the kitchen from the lounge and cleaned the space as best you could without wanting to put too much money into a shack so easily destroyable.

A door beside the old shelves led to a grimy bedroom which you all usually avoided, not knowing what had happened within those sheets, and an arch within holds a foul bathroom you hadn't even managed to clean. You had ventured in once, in the early days, and found it covered entirely in clingfilm, no doubt from some crackhead off their nut. All you know is the toilet doesn't flush and someone had a 'troubling' experience before sealing everything up in clear plastic. You weren't brave enough to unwrap the room.

As for the lounge, very little was added in your decoration of the cabin. Clara had brought along some old fairy lights of her sisters when she moved out of town and a black and white elephant printed tapestry had been hung over a lumpy green stain unusually high up on the pinkish walls. There had never been any electricity inside, so you mainly resorted to lighting the dodgy fireplace and bringing along camping lamps to sit atop ancient shelves and tables. 

Overall, the little shack would be a little disappointing to an outsider, but you all loved it nonetheless, treating it like a miniature home.

Grinning, Will unfolded a camping chair held under his arm and propped it up beside the old sofa before beginning to tend to the fire with Lee. James and Clara made their way to brave the springy sofa itself, nestling awkwardly about it until they found a spot free of the lumps of time, while you threw yourself down against the wall with Sarah, stubbing out the last of your cigarette onto the floorboards before tossing it into the empty fireplace.

"Hey you two, catch." Your eyes sprung up to James, roughly unpacking a case of ciders. A red, gleaming can sat in each hand and he threw each surprisingly well, falling into your laps neatly.

"Ta," Sarah chimed, cracking hers open with a satisfying fizz and running her tongue over the cool metal lid.

The night faded into a blur of alcohol and giggles, especially after James pulled out a tall bottle of whiskey, but a sinister lurch never left your stomach, where dread was digging a hole, twisting its vines and roots into your flesh.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Im sorry about the wait but no ones really read it yet so I'm not too sorry


	5. Proxy

proxy

/ˈprɒksi/

_noun_

_the authority to represent someone else_

* * *

**27th of May**

The morning filtered in through the cracks and dust-thickened glass of the little shack in the Tuscaloosa woods. Everybody inside was fast asleep, stomachs full of cheap vodka and snacks, but the world didn't join them, not entirely, anyway

A man was sat on a low hanging tree branch, swinging a long, thin slice of metal at the creaking wood absentmindedly. It would be an ominous sight if anyone was there to see it, but he was careful in his approach. Standing, he could have been anywhere between 6'0 and 6'5, a menacing height, and wearing a cool, horrifying white mask over his face gave him the impression of a scream queen villain.

'If only they knew.'

He had been sat like this for hours, never moving from his perch on the old tree, never putting his machete down for a second. Only breaking contact from the game he had been playing to bring his shielded eyes back to the pathetic shed. He wouldn't be a scream queen villain tonight, he would merely watch, as he had been doing. There wasn't even a reason as far as he was aware, but he was told to do something and therefore, he was doing it.

All of a sudden, the man was woken from his trance to a sound resonating through the space filled only by the rustle of leaves blowing in the early morning wind. A normal person wouldn't pick up on such a noise, but he was more than familiar with it, and what followed.

"Fuck off, Rogers," The mans voice came in a low rasp, unused for so long, and again no normal person would be able to hear it at the distance 'Rogers' was away, but his companion chuckled in response.

"I w-wanted to se-ee what all the f-uss was about," A man chimed from a few feet away, where he had crept up almost completely silently to join his friend. "The ol-old man doesn't exactly tell us m-m-much."

"It's not your job to question his decisions," The man sitting on the branch deadpanned, "Now keep your voice down and fuck off."

The one still below suddenly took on a menacing purr to his voice, slick with subtle amusement. "D-don't be such a fucking sp-spoil-sport, Masky," He sung, pulling something heavy from his belt to rest over his shoulder with a dull thump. "You're r-ruin-ing all the fun!"

"This isn't fucking fun, Rogers," Growled 'Masky', barely flattening his ill-patience with the other. "This is a job and I'm not here to babysit you or watch you dick around."

He didn't jump at the banging thump that hit his tree with terrifying speed and accuracy as Rogers axe plummeted through the thick wood like butter. It wasn't anger that fuelled his attack and he looked up as Masky with a wide smile pulling at a facemark covering his mouth, tilting his head to the side.

"Is she p-pretty?" He grinned. He was dicking around with Masky and he knew it, trying to push his patience as far as it could go.

"Piss off," Masky diverted his attention back to the shack, gritting his teeth in an effort to keep himself together.

Rogers ignored him completely, walking steadily to the tree to pull his hatchet from the wood. "I-is that why you're having so much f-fun with this li-little mission?"

"This is serious Toby," Masky spat, losing his temper with the man. "It's not fun, It's important and It's not your fucking case."

"O-oo-oh!" Rogers whooped in return, laughing openly as he slotted his weapon back into a holster on his belt. "So she is pre-tty?"

Sighing, Masky completely ignored him, flipping the cool metal in his grip over in his hand, pulling his body back into his one-player crowbar game.

"W-well," Rogers smiled wistfully. "Save m-me a tooth or two w-when you're done." At that, he turned, throwing his gloves hands in his jean pockets, and began to walk back in the direction he came from, kicking the leaves as he went. "And m-make sure to lodge your s-stupid fucking crowbar through her eye or som-something," He called finally with a laugh, before disappearing completely.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Just a short one because a comment motivated me to write something! I'm working on the next chapter but in the meantime theres this...thing?

Our first look at the proxies. I cant lie I've taken a bit of character design from the incredible [@Vivian R. Vergiou](https://www.quotev.com/ViviVerg) with my ideas for Toby as I think her book '[Lie to me](https://www.quotev.com/story/11217866/Lie-To-Me)' captures the essence of his character so well. Please go give it a read, its seriously good.

If you're looking for a soft, secretly sweet killer you're reading the wrong book


	6. Strike

* * *

strike

/strʌɪk/

_verb_

1.1

_hit forcibly and deliberately with one's hand or a weapon or other implement._

* * *

**27th of May**

The following days to your drinking nights were never pleasant. Just the sight of half drunk cans sent a pang through your stomach and you suspected James may have spilt his whiskey at some point throughout the evening because the sickly, smoky scent had filled up the shack like a fog and you all looked a bit queasy as it hit you. You each woke up with a dull pain blanketing your skull and a hunger like no other, and slowly, groggily, you bundled your things together and traipsed out, groaning as the mid morning light hits you. It filtered through fluttering leaves and branches above you, glimmering like sequins amongst the greenery and would be quite pretty if you weren't worried you were about to chunder over your own shoes.

Sarah offered you a slightly crumpled cigarette as you leaned against the wall outside, greedily sucking in fresh air and trying to keep your eyes from flickering upwards, but you declined. Just the thought of cigarette smoke on an empty stomach and alcohol still in your veins almost mades you shudder and Sarah quickly agreed, barely taking two drags of her own before stubbing it out on the ground.

Will was the next to join you, looking slightly green in the filtered brilliant light but smiling weakly. He bent down a little to give you a quick kiss before ruffling his hair awkwardly and adjusting the strap of his bag.

"I've decided I'm never drinking again," He croaked with a crooked smile, moving out of the door to allow James, Lee, and a half asleep Clara out into the woods.

"You said that last time, man," Lee grinned, fresh faced and surprisingly happy for the morning of such a horrendous hangover.

"And the time before that," James added, stretching.

"Oh, and the time you woke up on the schools roof," Finally, Will clocked Lee over the head gently and huffed.

"How the fuck are you so happy?"

"Not my fault ya'll are a bunch of pussy-ass lightweights," Lee chimed with a laugh. "Now hurry up or I'm ditching you here."

Sarah mumbled something incoherent and, with a roll of her eyes, you set off, stumbling, though the thick foliage, occasionally tripping or bashing your head on an overhanging branch. Will and Lee were in a competition of who could shove the other the hardest into the bushes either side of the narrow path and Clara and James were talking lowly as you trundled along.

"Hey," You paused next to Sarah from where you'd been gently walking together in a comfortable silence. Clara was frowning, tilting her head slightly as she stared at something just past your shoulder. You whipped your head around, your hair shifting as the wind pushed it aside, but see nothing but old trees. You squinted your eyes, and turned back to her questioningly, but she had moved past you and towards the thick woods.

"Everything okay?" You turned, still looking at Clara as she arched her short legs over nettles and bushes before reaching a specific tree, blocking your vision from what she was looking at. Will and Lee had loped back to the main group and the former wrapped an arm around your shoulder casually.

"I don't know, Clara's spotted something," You shrugged.

She brought up an arm and touched something you couldn't see before tilting her eyes upwards, saying nothing as she calculated something in her own mind. For some reason, as she analysed the seemingly innocent tree, you felt a cold breeze bathe over you, prickling the hairs on your neck and exposed arms. You felt something, like a sense of dread or tension, settle in your stomach like a pit and suddenly an overwhelming, aching sensation to leave and not turn back encased your stomach.

"Clara-" You began hesitantly, your hangover easing drastically as your flight or flight instincts kicked in, but she spoke over you.

"I think someones been here."

You breathed in shakily, looking around at the confused faces surrounding you. "What?" Sarah asked, though without a hint of worry.

"Babe, It's fine," James held a similar ease to his voice. "You're just tired, c'mon."

"I'm fucking serious," Clara's voice was icy as she whipped her head around to only glare for a second, but you picked up on the fear in her eyes.

Biting the inside of your cheek anxiously, you detangled yourself from Wills arm and stepped into the arching tree line, heading straight for the girl, who, from closer up, appeared to be shaking slightly. She turned wide, analytical eyes on you as you approached and moved slightly so you could see what she'd been so upset about.

Embedded into the wood, sinking several centimetres in, was a thick, yellowing slash, splintered where something had been pulled out of the line. You ran your fingers gently along the cut, frowning, and didn't notice as the others walked to stand beside you. There was a pause as everyone looked at the tree, expecting something horrifying carved into the wood, before James bursted out laughing.

"That's whats gotten you upset Clar?" He said between chortles, looking at the slash with raised brows. "That?"

"Its fresh you dick," Clara fumed, backhanding his arm as Will joined in with the amusement. Sarah and Lee remained silent, giving each other shaky looks.

"How can you even tell?" Will asked finally, an underlying sense of sarcasm hinting between his words.

"Well It's moist," Clara said pointedly, glaring at the boys. "It's whiter than aged wood and there's splinters everywhere."

"So let me get this straight," James stretched to his full height and gave his girlfriend a condescending look. "You think, what? That someone was out here practicing moves on a fucking tree last night?"

" _I think,_ " Clara fumed, gritting her teeth. "That someone was fucking watching us."

Without moving her eyes from James, she pointed up above your heads to a thick, slightly low hanging branch about three metres from the ground and you squinted for a moment before picking up on her point.

Scattered innocently over a patch of bark was a set of smooth, bent indents, littered across the scaly branch like slashed spots.

"Oh my god," James rolled his eyes, grinning as he searched the broken wood. "So they were 'practicing moves' on the branches too."

"No," Clara deadpanned, quickly losing complete patience with the boys. "The branch has been hit with something thin and sloped, the body looks like its been hit with an axe-"

"Guys," Sarah finally perked up from where she'd been having an unnoticed, quiet conversation next to Lee. They shared worried looks before she spoke again. "We both heard something in the night."

"Oh, like what," Will droned and you suddenly have the urge to backhand him in the arm as Clara had done her own boyfriend.

" _Like,"_ Lee said harshly. "Something hard hitting something, and voices." His voice holds no trace of humour.

"It woke us both up," agreed Sarah.

"Look mate, if you're hearing voices in the night you should probably speak to a-" James brought his arm up to pat Lees shoulder jokingly but the latter grabbed it in defiance. 

"We know what we heard."

You drowned out the rest of their discussion as an idea comes to mind and pushed past them seemingly unnoticed, reaching your leg up onto a natural dent in the wood and latching your arms onto the battered branch above. With a lot of effort and scrabbling, you pulled yourself up and gingerly sat above their heads, resting your hands on the old, dark bark before looking out over them.

From your perch, you had a clear, unobstructed view, stretching straight through scattered leaves and twisting branches to the cabin you'd grown to call a second home. You could see the large, dusty window beside the rickety door, straight through to the ancient sofa in the middle of the lounge and the pit in your stomach grew into a cave.

"I think you're right," You said to no one in particular, looking down to where your friends were now watching you critically. "I think someones been watching us."

"That's ridiculous," James groaned, throwing up his arms and clambering up next to you without using the tree as a support. His eyes settled on the cabin, on the simple view, and his face fell. Somewhere in the distance, as you all grew silent at James apparent defeat, a clicking noise reverberated through the forest, echoing around the trees and bushes, followed by a muffled rustle. Eyes widening, you darted your head around with the others, heart pounding so hard in your chest it was beginning to hurt.

"We should go," Sarah piped up shakily, wrapping her hands around her upper arms as she stared hesitantly into the greenery surrounding you.

"Agreed," Will swallowed, backing out onto the path with her. James jumped from the branch easily, and, petrified, you stumbled after him, hitting your ankle as you attempted to clamber down the tree as quickly as you could. You hissed as your feet hit the ground, stumbling after your friends, cursing their eager leave without offering to help you down from your perch.

But, as you reached the path once more and hurried after them, you could have sworn you heard a low, muffled giggle, followed by the noise of something being hit. Your heart jumped into your throat as you picked up the pace, running back to the truck desperately.

On the journey back everyone was almost completely silent, allowing Lee to divert full attention to manoeuvring his old truck as quickly as he could down the narrow roads, but try as you might, you couldn't blame your hearing on your anxiety or your mind playing tricks on you. All you could do is think about Amelia, about the woods she wandered into without walking out, and of the horrible, unknown symbol, with the wide circle and striking X.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

By the time you finally arrived home, after what felt like the longest journey of your life, you wasted no time hurrying up to your room, shutting and locking all doors you came across, and huddling under your blankets. It felt like a childish thing to do, but you searched for anything to assist you in feeling some sense of safety after the unnerving occurrence in the woods. In the time it took to get from the cabin to your house, your fear had somewhat manifested into frustration, and then anger. Frustration at your confusing, concerning chain of events, and anger that your friends wasted no time in sprinting back to the car without a thought or apology for you. The fact that they would leave you in the dust for whatever was out there in the forest made you want to hit a hole into Lee's stupid pickup, and do even worse to Will. 

You felt guilty for having these rash thoughts of violence and anger, but they knew you. They knew your fears, your past, and you expected better of the person who was supposed to care about you more than anyone in this world. Huffing pathetically, you wrapped the blanket tighter around you and sat back in your desk chair, opening up your laptop. It seemed like a stupid idea to resume your research with your mind in scattered, anxious pieces, but it was about the only thing that you could settle on, something to push you forward. You went to open Amelia's document to begin typing out your most recent incident, when a little 'ding' sounded from the electronic and a notification popped up in the corner of the screen.

_11:58am: SarahPriv17 - 'U Ok?'_

Sighing, you clicked on the box to open the chat and typed out a reply.

_11:58am: Me - 'Not awful, U?'_

_11:58am: SarahPriv17 - 'Pretty freaked out, home alone'_

You could already feel your empathy building back up inside you. It wouldn't be fair to be angry at someone for their own survival instincts- there was good chance you would have run ahead of them if you had the chance... would you?

_11:59am: Me - 'Did something really wake you up last night?'_

The reply was almost instant, dinging seconds after you hit send.

_11:59pm: SarahPriv17 - '100%, I thought it was just some kids but its looks pretty serious.'_

And then, even faster.

_11:59pm: SarahPriv17 - 'What if It's something to do with that Cleverbot shit?'_

You frowned as the message displayed clearly across your screen. It seemed like days, weeks ago that you were all sat on the bed talking to your laptop, when in reality it was only two days. But what if it was? What if, for some ungodly reason, someone was messing with you to the extent of stalking your nightly activities with friends? What if this had been happening for months, all without your knowledge?

Before you could type out a reply though, a new alert came through.

_12:00pm: SarahPriv17 - 'Hold on, I'm coming over'_

Sighing, you sent a quick _'okay'_ and exit the tab, bringing your attention back to the document. So far, you'd written out your findings as a book-of-sorts. Highlighting first the sequence of events that you were aware of from Amelia going missing, then to her backstory, and then to what you'd found since. It seemed a tad bit pathetic, with only a few main leads so far. You had originally focused on what you could find from police; the lack of blood, bone or human remains found in the woods until a suicide three months later. The lack of dangerous animals known to be taking shelter nearby and the immense lack of suspects throughout the whole investigation. You'd written a whole chapter on why you believed strongly that your best friend hadn't died of natural causes, with the woods being raked from top to bottom for evidence being your main support with no findings, but still you were no closer to finding the answers your brain to desperately craved. You began to write out your findings on 'The Operator', though you highly doubted you would ever be adding the chapter to your investigation if you were to publish it, and were just starting on your friendly chat with 'Cleverbot' when the doorbell rang clearly through the house. You had been so caught up in your writing that the sound made you jump almost out of your chair and, clutching your thumping chest, you closed the screen with a snap and make your way downstairs to open the door.

Sarah hurried in without even a simple 'Hello' and, nervously, shut the door straight behind her, shaking off her shoes. 

"Tea?" You chimed sympathetically at the anxious looking girl.

"Please," She returned with a shaky smile as she hung her black jacket up on the coat rail beside the entrance. Together, you made your way through to the kitchen, where she immediately plopped herself down on your aged leather sofa and brought her knees up to her chest, picking at the loose strands of fabric slashed through her ripped jeans as you began to make two cups of tea.

When you returned, after preparing them in near complete silence, Sarah accepted hers gratefully and wrapped two hands around the thick mug, sighing.

"You feeling that rough?" You asked, resting your own on the coffee table as you flicked on the radio with a small remote from on top of a magazine. Slow, gentle music began to fill the room quietly as she furrowed her brows.

"I keep thinking," Sarah started, ignoring your question. "That maybe we should have listened to that thing?"

"What thing?"

"Cleverbot." She drew her eyes to you, wide and dilated, rimmed with fear. "What if all of this shit is to do with your research? I mean... maybe you got too close to the truth."

Swallowing, you knitted your fingers together and tried to think past the strangeness of what was happening around you. "Will said it was a bot..."

"Will's full of bullshit and you know that," Sarah snapped, though somewhat jokingly. She breathed for a second before resuming again, softer this time. "It knew about your project, it was warning you to give up."

"What happened to Amelia was years ago," You reminded her gently, though the thought had been plaguing you too, far too much for your liking. Nevertheless, you attempted to assure both her and yourself. "And even then, how would anyone know I'm looking into it?"

"(Y/N), they hacked into your computer, whoever this is clearly knows what they're doing." Sarah pored her eyes into yours, looking straight into you with complete solemnity and it brought a sense of guilt to you.

"I-" You started, but she quickly cut you off.

"I'm not asking you to stop but.. maybe try being a bit more secretive about it?" Sarah almost pleaded, edging around the topic of the disappearance. "I know she meant a lot to you and you want to work it all out but I think this is a lot worse than you thought. Just... write it down in your notebook or keep it in your head for the moment.. until we can work out what the fucks going on."

You remained silent, taking in the information before nodding slightly. If this really was to do with Amelia's research, you had to be more careful with it, or stop entirely. The possibility of looking into her getting you into serious danger seemed scary enough, but the thought of wrapping your friends into your mess made you feel a little ill.

"Has anything else weird happened to you since Cleverbot?" You finally asked hesitantly, keeping your vision locked onto the mocha-orange liquid swirling gently in your mug, letting off white tendrils of steam. Sarah shook her head from beside you.

"No, but today really freaked me out, you?"

"I-" You thought for a moment, frowning. "Actually, there was this one thing." You told her about the messages you'd received the night before, which had somehow gotten lost in your fiasco from today, not particularly enjoying the way her eyes widened and her face went slightly paler as you mentioned the strange numbers final line. **'The game is on'.**

When you finished, Sarah remained quiet for a second, eyes moving attentively as she thought. "You're not posting another update to that fucking book, girl," She finally stated with a slight smile. "And we're going out tonight."

Laughter seemed strange in such an odd, slightly terrifying situation, but it felt nice to ease some of the tension from your skin. "Where?"

"I don't know, the movies or something." She grinned, attempting to do the same act of relieving the anxiety caking her bones. "Just...something fun."

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

I'm hoping to at least make a start on the next chapter tomorrow but I've got 9 hours worth of exams this week on top of 9 normal lessons so you may not see the next chapter until the weekend. I apologise in advance.

If you're new here, welcome, if you're the person to reminded me to update in the comments, I didsd it ;)


	7. Stranger

stranger

/ˈstreɪn(d)ʒə/

_noun_

  1. a person whom one does not know or with whom one is not familiar.




* * *

**27th of May**

As it turned out, 'something fun' did happen to be a trip to the movies, one of the few pastimes within a short distance from your home in Tuscaloosa. That's not to say that it was a particularly interesting trip in any case, though they usually had the basic ability to get decent films if you went at the right time. 

The local cinema was a stereotypical 50's looking building, made up of basic red and white paint with bright, patchy neon lights that got fired up as soon as evening dawned, giving the whole place a classic American diner vibe, though the popcorn was usually stale and they still had yet to buy some decent cinema screens.

Overall though, it was a treat, and at least a short, immersive break from the creepy shit going on in your life, so at 6:30 you made the hesitant bike ride through the best places in town that an 18 year old can go without running into the wrong people. The night was low lighted, the sky a watercolour of dark orange and the slow ebb of deep blue, and streetlamp's were just beginning to flicker on with a dull ping here and there as you raced down the sidewalks. The faint hint of an evening breeze was just starting to gently sweep the faded streets, but a clinging warmth still hugged the city, condensation curling your hair and brushing your skin as you cycled, dampening your light shirt as it rippled in the soft wind.

The town was still alive, though most had retreated back home to watch television or see their family. The odd, beaten down car trundled past you every now and then, but the roads were fairly silent apart from that and the odd group of friends leaving a bar or heading out for the night. 

By the time you reach the movies, the whole world had gone near black and the bright, condescending lights arching around the movies is a welcome sight. You pushed your legs a little harder against their aching and, weaving between parked cars, you slotted it into a bike rack besides the entrance, fumbling to lock the frame and wheels into the metal gate.

Your skin bathed in the golden rose glow spilling out from the lights overheard, you pulled yourself up to standing and, after a quick search of the parking lot, pull out your phone.

_7:13pm: Me - You here yet?_

You tapped the screen a couple times, craning you neck up to peer around in case you had missed her before the device buzzed a moment later.

_7:14pm: SarahPriv17 - Gimme a few mins, was running late, mom's dropping me off._

Sighing, you typed a quick 'ok' and slid your phone back into your pocket, leaning against the cream-white chipped paint of the building behind you as you waited. The air was filled with the dying laughter and chatter of people wandering into revolving doors of the movies and suddenly you felt a hint of nervousness pulling at your skin. You brought your eyes up to survey your surroundings, the overarching feeling of being watched crawling over the back of your neck like a spider, and found only old, empty cars in the dawning silence. Biting the inside your cheek, you checked the time momentarily (7:17pm) before tapping your foot against the building, continuing to peer around you.

Just as you turned your neck to check the side of the building and beyond, finding only darkness, you felt an abrupt presence at your other side, a sensation so sudden you barely have time to turn your head before a mans voice sounds from beside you.

"Hey."

Your breath caught in your throat as you whipped your head back, jumping out of your skin, to find a tall man beside you, smiling awkwardly at your reaction. Your hand jetted upwards to your chest as alarm filled your blood in thick waves before dying down into an off-calm state, leaving you only with the pending adrenaline and instinct to run as far and fast as you could; The inner voice in your mind commanding you to be polite kept you rooted in place.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," You blurt at your overreaction, laughing nervously. With a settled mind, you noted just how close this man is to you, just how tall, and you had to grit your teeth to stop yourself from stepping back for fear of being openly rude. "You just gave me a fright."

"No, no, It's alright," He smiled, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "Im sorry for scaring you, you just looked a bit lonely."

Okay.. weird but oddly sweet? You weren't sure if you should asses this strange man as a serial killer or odd bloke with few regards for personal space.

"Oh, I'm just waiting for a friend." You brought your phone out of your pocket and waved it uselessly as if to say 'Look, someones expecting me! if you kidnap me, they'll know!'.

He merely shrugged his shoulders, still smiling gently, and stretched out slightly before dropping his hand into his trousers and pulled out a packet of Marlboro reds. "You just gotta be careful though, you know?" He said, slipping a cigarette into his mouth before offering you one, which you gladly took, needing a come down after your near panic attack. The little voice in the back of your mind gave you a telling off for accepting a burn off of a stranger and you hit it really hard even further into the depths of your subconscious. "Girl like you on her own, you never know who could be about these places." 

He brought a rather expensive looking zippo up to the cigarette and flicked it open deftly, the flame inside springing to life to gently burn away the tobacco at the end with a soft crackle before he extended a hand to light yours. You just caught a slight glimpse of the lighter before he pulled it back as you draw breath, noticing an odd little engraving beside a note, but the speed it was taken away and the various scuffs and scratches made it unintelligible.

Despite the gesture of the cigarette though, of which you didn't normally get to smoke any nice ones, you didn't miss the sour taste in the back of your mouth at his words, one that had nothing to do with the burning smoke slipping into your lungs.

"I try to keep an eye out for the wrong sort," You said, choosing your words carefully as a sick feeling began to develop in your stomach. Your brain ached as you tried to rationalise the conversation, pointing out to yourself your near constant irrational paranoia; He could just be an awkward, nice guy, concerned for your safety.

Or he could be a stalking psychopath sending you terrifying messages and cutting up trees outside your shack.

You pushed the latter thought into the back of your brain and lock it in a box.

"You didn't spot me," The cigarette bounced between his lips as he gave you a cheeky grin. Never-mind, there was no longer any containing of the creepy stalker psycho thought now bouncing around your head.

"You calling yourself the 'wrong sort'?" You replied, trying to keep your nervousness out of you voice despite it rattling through your bones.

He opened his mouth to reply, a peculiar glint in his eye as he made to respond, but he was interrupted mid breath by a flash of headlights in front of you and a "Heyyyy!"

You blinked rapidly at the bright, white light in your face and saw Sarah's moms black car parked in front of you, the older woman giving you a concerned smile from behind the steering wheel and her daughter clambering out to lightly jog towards you. "Sorry for the wait, you coming?"

You glanced slightly back to the man beside you, squinting at the car with a sudden look of bored frustration before looking back to you. His expression changed so rapidly it could have given you whiplash, his entire face moulding from mild agitation to his previous friendly look and you furrowed your brows.

"Thanks for the Marlboro," You shrugged, exceedingly ready to back away from the guy as quickly as you could, despite your near innocent, or perhaps playful, conversation.

"Don't worry about it,...uhhh?" The man looks questioningly between you and Sarah as you slowly retreat to the cinema doors, flicking a strand of dark hair back from his eyes.

"Um, (Y/N)," You said, uneasily, just about ready to say anything to get away from the conversation faster. Sarah had approached by then and pulled at your sleeve to get inside. "You?" You called, being steadily dragged backwards by the impatient girl.

The man turned his head slightly, the way a dog does when they hear a confusing noise, but his face held only confidence.

"Tim."

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

"Who was that guy you were talking to, anyway?"

You looked up from your loaded fries to the girl opposite, holding a veggie burger in one hand and a coke in the other. The best movie on happened to have been 'Mean Girls', which was an excellent way to numb your brain completely to almost everything going on in your life and desensitise for a short period of time.

"I dunno," Popping a fry in your mouth, you shrugged as you reached for the ketchup. With Sarah's mom picking her up at half ten, you had decided to kill time by going to the local, ancient diner where you could get greasy food, decent coffee, and slightly less junkies than out on the street. "Just came up to me when I was waiting for you."

Sarah frowned as she took a sip from her drink thoughtfully, rattling the cup so that the ice clinked together softly. "I haven't seen him around here before."

"Well its a little hard to know everyone in Tuscaloosa, Sare," You weren't completely sure why you were defending him, but quite frankly you didn't want to talk about the guy, doubting you would ever see him again.

"I mean," She drawled, stretching out her words as she brought her burger to her mouth and took a careful bite. "He didn't look that old, You'd think we'd have seen him in school or something, you know?"

"No," You deadpanned, rolling your eyes playfully. "He could have been from out of town, or a different school, or just older than he looks. Why are we even talking about him?"

Sarah shrugged jokingly, but gave you an almost stern look as you properly dug into your meal, hoping to move onto a different topic. "I know I didn't talk to him or anything but.. he seemed kinda... weird? Like he was standing way too close to you and-"

"Sare," You interrupted, looking at her from over your own burger. "We came out to try to not think about stalkers and shit, don't keep up on it."

"Fine," She replied, smirking, though she still seemed slightly uneasy as her eyes flicked to the town outside the window. "Just be careful, I thought he was looking at you weird."

Her words succeeded in retying the knot in your stomach you'd been working so hard on loosening for the past two hours and you tried to ignore the thick feeling in your throat.

"Why are you even eating a veggie burger anyway?" You blurted, eager to change the conversation into something less concerning, and the question had plagued you since she first ordered.

"Oh," she replied, eyeing her food almost suspiciously. "I started talking to this girl who's, like, seriously animal rights and shit and-"

"YOU'RE TALKING TO SOMEONE??" You practically yelled, your eyes lighting up. She almost jumped and looked around the restaurant nervously to see the other customers glaring, you dulling your voice down to a slightly quieter tone at their disapproval. "Why have I only just heard about this?"

Sarah turned a bright shade of red as she played with her coke straw, looking down at her food again with a tiny smile. "Because its not that serious..."

"This is so serious! It's been ages since you've been talking to someone and-"

"(Y/N)," She laughed, sliding away her burger to focus on her fries. "Its seriously not that important and besides, I don't think I can keep up the whole veggie thing, this is fucking disgusting."

Giggling, you looked at the off-brown patty, spilling with greens, and scrunched your nose. "It cant be that bad."

"You want it?," She smirked, picking it up and holding it out to your face while you laughed and attempted to bat it away.

"You can keep your vegetables to yourself you whore."

She groaned dramatically before letting it drop back on her plate with a 'thump', swiping her hands to remove the excess grease and crumbs.

"Hey, did I tell you the others were planning on doing a party at Will's tomorrow?" She asked after a while of pointless, fun conversation, by which time you had finished your meal and were simply sipping the last of your milkshake.

"No," You frowned. "Will hasn't said anything to me."

"Oh," Sarah hummed, flipping out her phone to look through her messages. "He probably just forgot to message, we're gonna go over for a barbecue."

"Right.." You replied, quickly checking your own phone to see if he'd involved you in the planning without you realising. "No he definitely hasn't mentioned anything."

"Thats weird," She shifted her lips in a look of confusion, slurping the last of her coke before piling it onto of her uneaten burger. "I thought he would have.. well it's tomorrow at 7 if you wanna check with your mom? We're staying over."

"Yeah sure," Maybe it was the recent constant paranoia playing up again, but you felt a drop in your chest as you thought about Will. Why hadn't he invited you? You'd never been a particularly insecure person, especially when it concerned your lovable dork of a boyfriend, but surely he would usually invite you immediately if there were plans, especially at his house.

"Oh," Sarah checked her phone while you mulled over your thoughts, pulling up up from where it had been buzzing on the table. "Moms outside, I gotta go, you sure you don't want a lift back?"

"Oh no its okay," You fumbled, standing up yourself and grabbing your bag. "I've got my bike with me, I'll be fine."

You walked together to the doors, saying a quick 'thank you' to the bored teenager at the till, until you reach the bike railing outside. "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah," You smiled, giving her a quick hug in departure. "Thanks for tonight, it was nice hanging out just us."

"Anytime!" She grinned in return, turning back to walk towards her mums car, parked at the side of the restaurant. "Don't talk to anymore creeps on your way home!"

Laughing uneasily, you nodded and unlocked your bike, swinging your leg over the side to make the journey back with a quick wave to the retreating car. But your thoughts weren't even on the possibilities of running into the strange guy again, or the general strange-ness of the past few days, but on why you weren't invited to your boyfriends, as stupid as that sounded to you.

You made the cycle back without being able to tear your mind from the subject, not even having the decency to ridicule yourself for debating on such a topic, and when you returned home to find your parents sound asleep on the sofa in their work clothes, you decided to go straight to sleep, for some reason feeling far more alone than usual.


	8. Oblivion

oblivion

/əˈblɪvɪən/

_noun_

  1. 1\. 

the state of being unaware or unconscious of what is happening around one.

    * the state of being forgotten, especially by the public.

"his name will fade into oblivion"

    * destruction or extinction.




* * *

_The world was made of pearly white, soft hues of blue and purple fading in and out of reality like the space around you was breathing, breathing with a fluidity captured only in the gentle movement of a tranquil lake or small pond. You were sat in this nothingness, surrounded by calm, floating colours, soaking the warm white through every pore of your body, filling it with a translucent pearl that seemed to pull you up so that you were floating lightly with the lilac. It was peace to the very core, and then a voice spoke, pulling you into a bare form of consciousness._

_"Remember me."_

_You looked down, a pang of recognition tapping at your skull but you couldn't feel the emotion it drew in you, there was nothing but thick white. Your eyes began to slowly lull closed again, falling back into deep tranquility, when the voice once more echoed around the space, filling the peace up with a desperation unwelcome in its beauty._

_"(Y/N)"_

_You eyes snapped open, alarm filling you. You knew that voice, how could you forget that voice? It was there from the very beginning, it was always there._

_You were sat, crossed legged, on a bed of never-ending, jasmine grass. The sky above you was reminiscent of that which you had been filling yourself with before, made up of gentle cream and rippling blue, and in between the blades of grass around you was beautiful, blooming flowers of every colour imaginable, filling the ground with breathtaking forms of life. But what really captured your attention above all else was the little girl sat opposite from you, so close your knees were almost touching and looking at you with an expression of sad awe._

_Something about the little girl pulled your heart straight out of your chest, filling the gaping hole with an undying, sorrowful ache. Her big, blue eyes were full of innocence and a desire to live, and yet something about them seemed almost lifeless, and while her beige-brown hair was pretty and fell in gentle waves, it seemed almost brittle._

_"Amelia."_

_You didn't realise your lips were moving, nor that the cracked, broken voice was coming from your throat, but without time to understand the situation, you were filled with such awful agony it was difficult to comprehend it was coming from your chest, that you hadn't broken a bone or taken a bullet, that you were merely... sad._

_Her clothes, you noticed, were old and tattered looking. Her yellow and black stripy tights had a laddered hole around each knee, her shiny school shoes were scuffed and the rubber was peeling away. Her black skirt was dirty and ragged, and her starry blue shirt had a gaping hole straight through the centre. She was wearing no jacket._

_The more you looked at her, the more forlorn she seemed to appear. As you pondered how cold she must be, drops of blood seemed to ebb down from her nose and mouth, creating darkened spots across her chest and thighs, her pale arms grew goosebumps and desperate cuts and scrapes appeared over the perfect skin. The hole in her stomach began to develop; A gaping, deep red pit that made you sick to look at. You looked back into her eyes, your breathing quick and terrified, to see they were glossed over and had rolled into the back of her head, creating a misty pearl-blue with the light still shining on them. She then began to rise, though her legs didn't move, they merely folded and creased as she was dragged through the air until the tips of her toes were just barely grazing the brown grass below._

_The sky was now a pitch black, the beautiful flowers of the field had died and become reborn as thin, arching trees that you couldn't see the top of. Panic began to swell in your system as the little girl in front of you took a rattling, cried breath, pain coursing through her tiny body before going completely limp, her head lulling backwards and her shoulders settling without breath._

_You didn't want to look up, but you could see a thick, black wire wrapped around her neck, keeping her suspended, and you couldn't control your own actions. Your head felt strange, like something had poured itself through your nose, ears and mouth and was now clawing at you from inside your skull, filling you with an icy cold. Your vision bubbled and seemed to crackle and you slowly peered up._

_You saw only something great and black, its head just as far above your own as the trees so that you could only make out something white at the top of its body. You could tell it was looking at you, you could tell is had done this to Amelia, the tiny little body dangling in front of you._

_You opened your mouth to scream but only a gasp emerged as something grabbed your arm from behind, tugging you back so violently your legs didn't have enough time to comply. You reached out another hand to the dead girl, still hanging there lifelessly, but you couldn't quite reach, your hands barely brushing against the fabric of her shirt._

_Your head lurched as you fall, the girl slipping from your sight as you looked up at the trees above you, but for just a moment they are blocked by the face of a man looking down at you, the fabric of his face mask tugging in a way you can only assume to be a smile beneath. You could not see his eyes, only your own reflection in their ochre-orange glass._

_You didn't hit the ground, you didn't feel the pain of your head colliding with the dirt below, for your vision was suddenly flooded by the same light you'd seen only moments ago. You were sat back In the field with Amelia, gazing at you with that sad look in her eyes, a look you now understand to be a wisening._

_"Now you understand," She said simply, tilting her head so that her hair fell over her face slightly._

_"I-" You fumbled for words, suddenly feeling a warm wetness on your cheeks. You had been crying. "I'm so sorry."_

_She smiled; a childish, innocent smile at your words. "Don't be sorry, (Y/N)." Amelias soft, tiny hands slowly climbed through the air to rest on your cheek, lifelessly cold yet full of such incredible warmth. Her face now centimetres from yours, she stared right into your eyes with necessity and spoke for the last time._

_"Find me."_

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Ohhh two updates in one day? ;) thats unlike me

Anyways this ones only super short so its just a lead up to the next big event which I will try to write about tomorrow but probably won't until the weekend!


	9. Oblivious

oblivious

/əˈblɪvɪəs/

_adjective_

  1. not aware of or concerned about what is happening around one.




* * *

**28th of May**

You didn't sleep well. That's, in actually, an understatement. You woke up the next morning with the worst sudden bout of sickness you'd ever felt. Your stomach was churning horrendously but you barely had the strength to leave your bed in place of the toilet bowl, your head was pounding with wave upon wave of pain and the sweat sticking to your skin was ice cold against your burning blood. A lump formed in your throat, growing with every panicked gulp until it felt almost impossible to breath and was scratching with a hot velocity. You forced out a weak cough, suddenly filled with the thick need for oxygen, to gasp air like your life depends on it, but the swelling itch wouldn't go, leaving you with an even larger desire to hack your lungs out. 

Against your stomachs better judgement, you rolled over in bed so that your head was dangling awkwardly off the side, your neck too weak to hold up your screaming skull, and forced out another cough. And another. And another. Until you were retching and hacking, clawing at your own skin to force the sensation up. Hot tears streamed over your nose and drip onto the ground with your saliva as you tried desperately to rid yourself of the lump. Your body rolled completely out from atop the mattress, tangled within your now moist duvet cover as you cried and heaved, your hair sticking to your sweltering face and in your mouth. Fighting to tear yourself from the blanket and too preoccupied by the torment in your windpipe to feel the cry of your head, you made a final mad dash to the bathroom, shoved two fingers down your throat, and let a hot stream of vomit flow from your stomach to your mouth and into the toilet.

For a second you wanted to sob with relief, now free of both the churning deep within your organs and the agony of your throat. You could finally breathe again and you took mad, gasping breaths between hyperventilations, soaking in the fresh waves of air like a thirsty animal at a stream. Resting your head against the gleaming white rim of the toilet, too tired to care about the germs now encompassing your hair, you looked down into what was the contents of your stomach and jolt back with a scream of terror.

The inside of the gleaming white bowl was stained a running, smeared black, splattered with thick blotches of mucus and congealed blood. The clear water at the bottom had a thick layer of inky sludge, almost bubbling, and you could feel the immense heat radiating off of the contents of your stomach. Last nights diner food definitely wasn't _that_ bad. The rich copper smell hit your nose and you nearly threw up again.

But as soon as you saw the revolting image, it changed. In the blink of an eye, chunky, dark stains and clots were replaced by the usual off-yellow of puke, the scent warping back into putrid stomach acid. As you sat on the cold bathroom tiles, eyes wide and alert and body aching, you found yourself wanting to scream. 'What the fuck is going on? Why is this happening to me?' You knew no one would answer, that you would now be the crazy person hallucinating vomit and yelling at the top of your lungs, but the frustration had you nearly tearing clumps out of your own hair. Instead, in a daze of sorts, your collected yourself, slowing pulling your aching body into standing, before flushing the toilet, opening the window a crack to hopefully air out the room a little, and slumping yourself into the bathtub. You didn't register yourself turning the dial on the shower until an icy burst of water hit your frazzled frame and you gasped at the sensation. The spits of cold felt like bullets against your skin, piercing you open to spill blood down the drain, but the crimson never came. Alternatively, as you sit there, too numb to move away from the downpour, the freezing stream began to ease you, clearing your skin of sweat and your hair of saliva. It washed over you in welcome waves, easing the aching both in your body and skull and you tilted your head up to lap up the water on your tongue like a dog, suddenly aware of the dry burning spreading through your gums. 

When, finally, you felt somewhat shocked back into normality, you peeled off your sopping pyjamas, leaving them in a heap on the floor, and started to scrub your body clean, still sitting. You lathered your skin with layer upon layer of body scrub and washed before massaging your now only aching scalp with the nicest shampoo and conditioner in the collection of soaps available until you finally felt completely clean. 

The sun now beginning to stretch into the bathroom, you pulled yourself out from the tub, draped a fluffy towel around your shivering body, and hung your dripping clothes off the heated rail by the door. As you exited the bathroom, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror; eyes dark, lips tinged blue. You tore your sight away as quickly as you could.

For a while you sat on the floor of your bedroom dressed only in the towel, pulling it as tight against your icy skin as you could until you mustered up the energy to dress yourself for the day. As you searched through your wardrobe for clean, soft clothes, a thought suddenly blossomed back in your mind. The dream you had.. what was it?

You frowned, clutching a (F/C) shirt tight in your fist as you tried to recollect your scrambled mind.

Amelia.

"Shit," You cursed, throwing the shirt over your head as quickly as you could before grabbing a pair of shorts and socks. Convenience was all that mattered now. It was still too early for your parents to be awake on a day off so you merely grabbed your phone and threw your tattered boots on before darting out of the back door so as to yank your bike out from its shelter. With frantic determination, you threw your tired leg over the side of the frame, slid your foot into the pedal, and pushed yourself off as hard as you could, speeding off through the early morning streets of Tuscaloosa as quickly as your poor legs could go. The city was doused in a thick layer of golden-orange fog, lighting up the dusty roads and streaming through gaps in buildings and trees. The sky above was an early, baby blue, spotted with thin clouds that stretched out to meet the pouring, rising sun in the distance. No one was out yet but for the odd early morning worker on their way to their shift, most walking or cycling like you so you could thankfully avoid cars clogging up the roads.

It had been years since you'd made this trip, years since you'd even considered it. It had been a long time since you moved from your childhood home and you'd been pretty certain about never making the journey back, yet here you were, racing through the cool early breeze, never more desperate to see it all again. The cycle should have been an hour long trek, but the speed of your mind and legs made it feel more like thirty minutes, completely unaware of your aching lungs and pitiful muscles up until it came into view.

This side of the forest was one usually avoided at all costs by your friends on your trips out, one most people avoid but for the odd brave, optimistic dog walker. Your old house sat on a long road leading up to the mouth of the wood, the last in the line, the reason your parents bought it. The garden had not a tall fence but more a wooden railing, meaning that you could look out from your home, over the short field of tall grass the other side, and into the arching trees. They didn't think it was terrifying, that the darkness and mystery shrouding the woods was unnerving, but beautiful, but then you felt the same back then too. You were stood on that road now, looking down the road into the forest, and you suddenly came to a stop.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

_"Mommy wants me back for dinner!," You called, giggling, as your friend pulled your little arm along._

_"Come onnn!," She replied dizzily, running as fast as her little legs could carry her, past your home and the bed of grass thick with wildflowers until you find yourself on the little pathway within the trees. "I need to show you what I found!"_

_"What?" You asked playfully, finally tugging your hand from her iron grip to walk of your own free will, though you still stood by her, kicking the late autumn leaves and jumping to avoid soaking your school shoes in the dark muddy puddles that sat innocently beneath the piles of orange and brown._

_Amelia looked at you with sparkling blue eyes, wide with excitement as she grinned a toothy smile. "You'll seeee!" She said teasingly, before running fast ahead of you, stumbling and sliding over the uneven path and into the unguided section of the woods, leaving behind only splatters of mud._

_"Hey, wait!" You called suddenly, ceasing your mindless kicking to dart after your friend, her high, childish laugh echoing around the trees. "Wait for me!"_

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

The memory shook you right down to the core, filling your body with an icy panic that stretched down to the tips of your fingers. Not just because of the sinister connotations that event had, that it was the beginning of the end of Amelia May Havenswood, but because you had completely forgotten about that moment as a whole. Your memory of the day stretched as far as walking home from school. As far as recollection goes, you had never walked into the woods, never sought out what Amelia was trying to show you; You had only walked out, alone.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat feeling as though it were beginning to swell once more and you coughed harshly to keep it at bay, clenching and unclenching your fists. 'You are not doing this right now,' you berated yourself, lips moving wordlessly as you tore your eyes from the tangled mass of branches ahead and back to the door. With a final deep breath, you swung your jelly-like leg back over the side of your bike and pulled it numbly towards the house three doors up and across the street from what was your own.

Amelia's family were, needless to say, very well off. It seemed that even now, so many years later, they still had the money to uphold the luxurious house they had bought long before your parents. While your own, now sitting innocently behind you overlooking the woods, was a very stereotypical next-door American build, the Havenswood's had by far the grandest on the street. At three stories high, the [house](https://gamespot1.cbsistatic.com/uploads/original/1585/15856606/3360645-2948030231-Capti.jpg) held a grandeur unlike most others in Tuscaloosa, and was made up of a layer of off-taupe brickwork that tapered off at the second story in favour of wood panels, painted a dark, glossy teal, reaching up to the grey tiled roof. It fell in several layers and stemmed upwards a little near the top to form a balcony, supported by three thick, white pillars in front of the wooden door. Each window, and there were many, was silhouetted by smoky exterior shutters, latched into the frame. When you were little, you and Amelia would play in the furnished attic, or run around the house playing hide and seek. You even faintly remembered the large apple tree in the spacious back garden, fitted with a swing.

Now, a little later into the morning, though still hoping you weren't too early to result in waking up the family, you felt more so at ease with walking up to the front door and knocking than you would have been if you left when you woke up. But still, the thought was daunting and you couldn't move your body from the sidewalk to the pathway up to the house. It was like your bones had suddenly turned to lead, like you were a doll on a shelf with immovable limbs stuffed with cotton. You could only stare up almost fearfully, twisting your sweaty palms over the worn handle of your bike, willing yourself to move. You didn't know how long you stood there for, steadily building up a sweat, before a car sped behind you, having you jump so badly you nearly tumbled, and when you looked back in surprise, the vehicle was already manoeuvring itself into the forest. In just that short glance before the car disappears, you noticed something in the treeline, scarcely hidden between trunks and branches. The flash of a figure, too far away to discern their height or figure, just a blaze of orange. You heart rate picked up as a slow reminder of your headache began to creep up your spine, flowing gently to encase your skull. A dull ringing began to sound from your inner ears, filling your mind with a searing, pitched noise. As you stared, squinting, searching for whatever it was that you just saw, the pain picked up with a flourish, fully trapping your brain in unimaginable layers of agony. You gritted your teeth and nearly cried out, hand moving to press your palm against your temple, and thats when you saw it. Not what you saw before, not nearly small enough, but a long, thin black frame standing stock still between the trees, blending in near perfectly if not for the stark white blob resting upon its shoulders; its head.

_'The faceless man, otherwise known as The Operator..._

_A tall man with elongated arms and legs._

_**He has no face.'** _

With a gasp, you willed your legs to move and, to your surprise, they did, pushing forward with new determination. You tore your sight away from the creature and power walked towards the house, tugging your bike along as quickly as you could. As you walked, keeping your vision set on the smooth wooden door ahead, the pain in your head ebbed away into nothing, as though it were never there, and you felt a warmth gather beneath your nose and inside your ears. Halting for a moment, you brung your fingers up gingerly to brush the fresh blood away from your upper lip and felt the same pooling and dripping down the side of your jaw. Your ears still felt sensitive, the ringing now just a small tune in the back of your mind like the sensation plaguing you after a night of loud music. A tight knot developed in your stomach but you tried to push it away with your thoughts of the creature- maybe you are just really sick, but there was no way you were about to pin these symptoms up to a flu.

Batting away the concerns as best your frazzled brain could, you approached the door at last and delivered two quick raps on the hard wood, resting your bike against your hip as you waited. It didn't take long for someone to answer, certainly not long enough to dwell on your decision of doing this.

The door swung open to reveal a woman with a face much older than she, dressed in a deep, velvet dressing gown and holding a mug of fresh coffee. Her eyebrows creased for a second when she saw you, hand still clasping the handle, ready to close it in a second if necessary.

"I'm not interested in buying anything, sorry," She droned, giving you a condescending look as she attempted to swing it shut in your face but you reached out a hand to stop it in place desperately.

"Mrs Havenswood?" You asked carefully, still keeping your eyes firmly on her and not on the woods filling your peripheral vision- you felt as though eyes were on you once more. "It's me."

She frowned a moment, looking you up and down before her lips parted and she took a little stuttered breath of realisation. "(Y/N)?" You merely nodded and pursed your lips in acknowledgement.

"I- would it be okay if I talked to you?" You stumbled over your words, trying to keep the fear and anxiety from your voice. Not only due to talking to the woman of your dead friend for the first time since you moved, but because of the creature you'd spotted, the one you couldn't be sure had left you alone.

It seemed though that she understood immediately. Her eyes widened a tad, taking a gulp, as she stuck her head slightly out of the frame to gaze into the woods. For a moment, she froze, pupils falling over something you refused to look at, before she moved back inside so quickly she nearly spilt her drink, ushering you in. "Come on, quickly." She slammed the door as soon as you were safely inside, leaving your bike against a pillar with the internal reassurance of a good neighbourhood, and followed her down the spacious hall and into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling your nose pleasantly.

When you were finally in the room, Mrs Havenswood turned to you, biting her lip as she set her drink down on the breakfast bar and sat atop a polished glass stool. "I have a bad feeling I know why you're here," She murmured as you joined her, balling your fists in your lap.

"A- and whats that?" You asked nervously, keeping your eyes averted to your fidgeting hands. The older woman waited a moment before clasping her own, extremely pale, one atop yours, stilling your movements. 

"That you've figured it out, at least some of it," She said silkily, an edge of calm understanding in her voice. You brought your gaze up to meet her eyes, the same blue as her daughters, though dulled and sunken with age. They still held an unwarranted kindness. "And you've seen what follows."

"The-" You felt a warmth fill behind your eyes and you fought to keep tears at bay, suddenly staring into the bright eyes of Amelia. "I don't-"

"I assume you saw what was watching us outside?" She interjected, bringing her hands back to wrap around her mug to take a slight sip. Her face stayed set on you, urging you to answer. Your mouth went dry.

"The operator." It wasn't a question anymore, not a needless pondering of a fabricated entity, warped by fiction. Her nod only affirmed your belief.

"I see you've done your research, I'm honestly surprised It's taken you this long." Mrs Havenswood pondered thoughtfully before standing swiftly from her stall and rounding the pristine breakfast bar. "Coffee?" She didn't give you time to reply before grabbing a mug from the cabinet and pouring you a tall drink. "Now I don't want to encourage a bad habit," She said finally, bringing the coffee to rest across the marble from you. "But I'm not going to say no you having a little kick." Her hand ducked beneath the counter and came back with a bottle of honey brown liquid. Whiskey, you assumed. "I think you'll need it."

The suggestion seemed almost ludicrous and you could have giggled if not for the sickening pit in the bottom of your stomach. Accepting her offer with a grateful nod, she poured a considerable amount into the swirling black drink before reaching over and doing the same to her own.

"So," Mrs Havenswood padded back to her seat and settled back down with the now alcoholic coffee at her lips. "What do you know?"

You launched into an explanation, everything from the moment you started your research. How you found an old picture of you and Amelia, how you started to ponder your own memory and the feeble explanation given to you on traumatic events wiping out specific events. You told her about how you found the strange symbol of the circle and X, the harrowing cleverbot experience, the scratches and tears in the tree outside your shack and the research on the Operator following your short introduction to the 'Marble Hornets'. You finished your lengthy statement with your dream last night, though not in detail, the hallucination of your own vomit and sickness and the creature watching you down the road.

"I don't know why," You said finally, throat aching slightly after the monologue. "But I knew I had to talk to you."

Mrs Havenswood had sat patiently through the description, never changing her calm expression, only mulling over your words in silence. She paused a moment, parting her lips slightly to speak before sighing. "(Y/N) dear, I think you've been lulled into a trap."

Silence followed her words, the kind of silence that shocks a room into submissiveness and encases you with questions you cant formulate. "What?" You spluttered, smiling slightly in disbelief as the world crashed down around you.

"When Amelia first went missing," She murmured, her eyes staring into nothing just past your head. "I felt the same as you. I thought the police were full of bullshit and I was angry about it, I wanted to do something." She looked to you, tears swimming atop her lower lashes, her voice barely more than a pained whisper. "That was my baby girl and they did nothing."

Her jaw clenched as she blinked a couple of times, breathing deeply to calm herself. "I knew it wasn't right, two girls going into those woods, one coming out with nothing to show for it. There were no tracks, no evidence at all. It wasn't an animal, it couldn't have just been a normal person.

"I looked into other reports, starting with the state and going out to all across America. Everyone thought I was some poor, deranged woman but I knew! I knew something wasn't right and I found the symbol. It was everywhere, It's just that nobody wanted to _see_ it."

"I've got to say," The woman added with a slight laugh, rubbing her temple with her fist as she took a long gulp of her whiskey-coffee blend. "You got there a lot faster than I did, but I think thats worse off for you."

Gulping, you took a swig of your own until the mug was empty, and she took a moment to tug the bottle back over to add sloshes of undiluted whiskey to your empty cups. "You see, I got the odd text message or warning to stop, but it took so long I assumed they didn't see me as much of a threat. They knew that I was beginning to work it all out but they also knew there wasn't anything I could do with it without sounding even crazier than I already was.

"So I kept going, I ignored every stupid email or note. I knew I was getting closer and I wasn't going to let them stop me from finding my girl so it-" She swallowed suddenly, shutting her eyes tight as she rubbed and pulled on the skin of her neck with one hand and took a deep swig of whiskey from her mug with the other. " **It** got involved. **It** got inside my head, made me see things, made me think things. I couldn't go to sleep without **it** putting a nightmare of her inside my head, I- I thought- **It** made me hallucinate parts of her.. body around the house." Her voice cracked with so much pain you couldn't stop the tears from spilling over onto your cheeks.

"I stopped after that," Mrs Havenswood took a few shaky breaths to calm herself down. "I cared. I wanted to find Amelia so badly but I couldn't do it anymore. That.. **Operator** would watch me _all the time._ I couldn't go to work, I couldn't leave the house. Tom couldn't stand my paranoid 'obsession' and left, I had nothing. I knew they would come after me for real if I continued and I couldn't stand **it** putting those ideas in my head, it- **it** doesn't let you _think._ "

It seemed she had drawn to the end of her explanation as she set down her once again empty mug with shaking hands and looked back at you, slowly calming herself back down from the agitated state she'd been in during her speech.

"I-," You wanted to say 'I'm sorry' or something along those lines, but a thought pierced through your skull that you couldn't dislodge. "You said they? There's others?"

Mrs Havensworth let out a slow, dry laugh with a shake of her head, letting bleached blonde hair fall in awkward lengths around her face. "The **Operator** doesn't do the heavy lifting," She muttered bitterly, looking out of the window into the garden beyond, which you noticed was nothing compared to the grandeur it had in your youth. The grass was now overgrown and brittle, the flowerbeds dead and brown. The only sense of familiarity was the apple tree, even taller than before, still flourishing amongst its dead companions. "I don't know who they are, probably something to do with that 'Marble Hornets' thing you found. If you search hard enough, you may start recognising people, thats how you know. They don't show their face from what I understand, I managed to keep out of their line of fire, but from what I know, they're sort of 'proxies' of **his**."

"Proxies?" You let the word roll off your tongue with unfamiliarity.

" **His**... representatives, if you will. They work under **him** , do the brunt of the work because **it** can only command the ones under **his** authority. It's why **it** goes after children, they trust easily where adults don't, those are the ones the proxies go after. Once your mind is strong enough to think for yourself, you aren't malleable enough for **it** to really infiltrate. **He** can only put ideas in your mind, not control your actions."

Thoughts of cleverbot came back to you, the scary messages on your phone and finally the man you spoke to outside the cinema. No matter how hard you racked your brain though, you couldn't quite remember his face. "So... thats where the proxies come in? They do the physical actions while **he** focuses on the mental?"

_'Theorists believe this creature to be of demonic history, holding the ability to manipulate its victims into an inescapable death, warp reality, and dwell within a pocket dimension of its own creation'_

You shuddered involuntarily.

"Yep," She droned, popping the P as she refilled her glass and added a little top up to yours, seemingly conscious of you having to make the cycle back home after drinking. "I think **he** may have done to you what **he** did to me, gave you the nightmare, put the thought in your head that you needed to come here."

Your mind was falling over itself in an attempt to understand what the woman was putting forth. "W-what does that mean?"

She pursed her lips in response, looking back outside for a moment before opening her mouth to speak, drawing her gaze back to unwavering, concerned eye contact. "I don't know, either in an attempt to stop you from looking or to draw you in tighter."

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes widened, horrified. In your pause, in the sudden silence, the catch in your neck suddenly burned and you burst into a fit of coughs, clawing at the skin in an attempt to lift the sensation. Mrs Havenswood jumped into action, though you could barely register her movements as your flailing arm caught your mug and sent it spiralling to the floor, spraying chipped ceramic and honey liquid across the floor. You could only focus on the knife like sensation beneath your grip, piercing your windpipe as you gasped between pained coughs. A tissue was suddenly pressed into your hand harshly as well as a glass of water and you gulped it empty in a matter of seconds, desperate for relief. When the glass was dry, you looked down at the crumpled white tissue to see flecks of blood splattered across the surface and crumpled it into a ball in your fist.

"Whats happening to me?" You voice cracked weakly as you struggled to speak, tears running freely down your face as you looked up to the woman above you, holding your shoulder and gazing at you with unwavering concern, mixed with what looked like guilt.

"Its **his** effect," She said finally, biting her lip. "I believe its a form of radiation, **he's** formed a link with your mind."

Forcing back a wobbled sob, you placed a hand against your chest, struggling to ease your frantic breaths into something closer to a sense of calm. "You need to get away from here, **he's** watching." She said, easing you out of your seat and onto your shaky legs.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you, (Y/N)," Mrs Havenswood gazed at you sadly when you finally found your way to the door, holding your arms with a vice like grip. "But you need to go."

Suddenly, before you could utter a response, she drew you in and wrapped both arms around you in a hug, holding you tight to her chest. Slowly, shakily, you returned the gesture, thankful for a moment of human contact with someone who understood, who cared.

In a voice no higher that a whisper, she brought her lips to your ears and spoke one last time. "Leave, go home as fast as you can and don't look back for anything. Don't ever come back to this side of the city."

When she unwrapped herself and opened the door with a brisk smile, she looked as though she said nothing at all, but the words tightened around your skull and nodded slightly, stepping outside. The woman's eyes skittered slightly towards the forest on her right but she gave no indication of what she saw. So, without turning your head a fraction towards the trees in the distance, you hopped on to your bike and sped down the path onto the road, turning without looking back and racing down the steet, ever aware of the eyes on the back of your head.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

_Man are proof reads important, my first draft managed to have 'she brings her legs to your eyes and speaks' and while that would make for an interesting segment, not really what I'm looking for here._

_A load of new people hearted this story since my last update so thank you so much to all of you new!_

_I've made one change to the chapters just to give the date of them._


	10. MISSING: HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

IF YOU HAVE INFORMATION ON AMELIA MAY HAVENSWOOD PLEASE CONTACT TUSCALOOSA EMERGENCY SERVICES OR HER FAMILY AT (### ##### ######).

Amelia May Havenswood

Missing from: Tuscaloosa, Alabama

Last seen: 24th of November, 2011

Age: 8 years old

Sex: Female

Weight: 63 pounds

Height: 53 inches

Build: Slim

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Light brown

Race: Caucasian

Clothing: Black and yellow stripy tights, black knee length skirt, medium blue shirt with silver star design across the chest, black standard school shoes

Defining marks: Amelia has a long, thin scar across her right knee, a birthmark beside her right eye and light chickenpox scarring over her cheeks.

PLEASE CONTACT LOCAL LAW ENFORCEMENT FOR FURTHER DETAILS OR TO JOIN SEARCH PARTIES TAKING PLACE THE FOLLOWING DAYS.


	11. Medication

medication

/mɛdɪˈkeɪʃ(ə)n/

_noun_

  1. a drug or other form of medicine that is used to treat or prevent disease.




* * *

**28th of May**

The cycle home was one of the longest and most anxious of your life and no matter how hard or fast you pedalled, the bike didn't seem to pick up the speed you intended it too, as though your legs were moving through thick water. A steady flow of sweat slipped from your skin, making your grip on the worn handles loose and awkward, and the determination to keep your eyes straight ahead, no matter what, caused a near car accident a few blocks from your home.

When you finally reached the side gate, It was just past noon, the sun high enough in the sky to cast sweltering heat on the grey pavement, steadily drying out the available greenery. It pierced your skin, burning the polished metal of your bike so that it left red marks on your bare thighs as you climbed off to throw it into its rack in your garage.

Without a thought, you manoeuvred your way back inside where the A.C was blaring cool air about the space and walked straight into your parents, poised unwaveringly on the faded sofa.

Your mother looked tired, her (M/H/C) hair, dry and brittle, was hanging over her shoulders, her fixed glare lined with dark circles. Your father was much the same, slouched slightly in his ancient, decaying sweatpants, grasping onto a mug of coffee like his life depended on it.

"Oh, hey," You breathed, giving yourself a single darting glance out of the window to see only the small garden outside- no horrifying omnipotent creature waiting in the shrubbery to give you a really bad cough, thank god. If anything though, your mother looked like she harnessed more power than the deity at that moment.

"What," She pursed her lips, breathing strongly through her nose. "The hell," You took a step back, readying yourself for an ass whooping as she clenched and unclenched her jaw. "Were you doing?"

"Going out for a bike ride?" Your answer was more a question in itself as you knotted your hands into a tangled fist in front of you. You just wanted out of this situation, back up to your room to hide in the wardrobe under a web of blankets.

Settling herself, your mother breathed evenly a few times, the rise and fall of her chest noticeable as she struggled to keep her temper at bay. "I just had a call from Renee about you, know what that's about?"

You rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of your feet, aching to remove your rubbing leather boots as you contemplated your answer- would it be better to lie and hope Mrs Havenwood hadn't revealed too much? Or come completely clean? You opted for neither, and fixed your eyes anywhere but their piercing glares.

"What the hell were you doing there?" Repeating her previous statement, the woman stood and marched towards you, you only now noticing the barely concealed worry lining her fragile face.

"I-"

"She wanted to make sure you got home safe!" Interjecting, she waved her hands incredulously as she paced across the room and back again. "Why on earth would you need to go there?"

"I-" Once again you were left speechless, or more so unable to get a word out, as your father stood himself, setting his mug down on the coffee table, and rolled his shoulders back.

"Do you know how unhinged that poor woman is now? Do you think It's helpful for you to go over there?"

This time you really were left speechless. Was it really that selfish? That unfair? But she wasn't the woman everyone thought she was, you knew that better than anyone. She was just as crazy or 'deranged' as you were... but is that even saying much anymore? After everything you had experienced, after the nightmares and hallucinations? Could you even trust your own memory, your own understanding anymore? 

Is it all even real?

You were halted from your anxious inner monologue however by your mother placing a careful hand on your shoulder, having you meet her tired, worried eyes. "Is this about Amelia?"

You teared up at the sound of her name and you weren't sure if it was the fear or the overwhelming sadness still consuming you, the guilt of you still standing with your family where she couldn't.

Your watery eyes and impending silence were all she needed, pulling you into a warm embrace that had you holding her as tightly as you could, sobbing quietly into her shoulder. Stroking the back of your head, your mother cooed softly in your ear, muttering words of comfort through your cries, apparently settled in your non-explanation. "It's okay, baby, It's okay."

"I just want to understand," You mumbled through gasps for breath, your voice muffled by her hair and soft lounge-shirt.

"I know, sweetheart, It's alright," The words cleared the aching fear that had seemed to embed its way into your bones over the past few days so that even thoughts of **him** were left at bay. The gentle fingertips running through your hair untwisted the knots and aches consuming you, ridding you of confusion and anxiety as she murmured gentle reassurances until you were left with only tired sniffles.

When, finally, you had calmed down enough to collapse onto the sofa with a glass of fresh lemonade in hand, the couple launched into a more subtle approach at a questioning than before, most likely worried you were about to start bawling your eyes out again.

"Is this about the research?" Your mother said softly after a while, gazing at you empathetically as you took careful sips of the soft drink, relishing in the cool fruity flavour tickling your tongue.

"I didn't realise you knew," You replied honesty, staring down at the peachy-yellow liquid clinking softly with ice, your voice suddenly sounded small against their judgement.

"Sweetheart," Your father began with a sigh. "I thought we were past this a long time ago, its not healthy for a young girl to obsess over these things."

Guilt began to swirl in your stomach, crushing down on you and tingeing your face a shameful pink, but that little voice in the back of your head reminded you of what Mrs Havenswood had said only an hour or so prior. 

_'My paranoid 'obsession'.'_

Was that what it was now, is that who you were? Once again you were drawn painfully back to those contemplations. Whether any of this was even real, if maybe you were imagining the whole thing. The creature in the woods told you otherwise, but could you even trust your own sight?

Shooting her husband a glare that screamed 'Stop talking,' your mother shook you back to face her with a gentle reminder. "You know we're always here for you, (Y/N)."

Guilt twisted her face slightly as you regarded the older woman with the tired eyes and limp hair; completely exhausted. You nodded.

"I know that it's difficult with us working all the time, It's not good for you and we want more than anything to be able to see you more," She expressed, giving your father another warning look, to which he blurted a quick, "Yeah, of course."

"I just want you to realise," She pushed back your hair like she did when you were a child, honestly coating her voice in thick, warming layers. "You don't have to do all of this on your own."

The thing about parent-daughter talks is that as heartwarming and comforting as they are, they can quickly get uncomfortable and somewhat suffocating. It felt a relief to finally talk about at least an aspect of what was steadily consuming your life, but their reassurances and kindness only served in making you feel ultimately more guilty than before. What right did you have to make their life even more stressful on top of their long working hours and constant strive to keep you afloat?

It all sunk a pit in your stomach the longer you sat there, blindly nodding along to whatever they told you, grateful yet craving for peace, and you took the first opportunity you got to go up to your room and cry into your pillow. A little bit of self pity riddled with guilt every now and then is actually somewhat therapeutic, wrapped up in your bedsheets that were definitely in need of changing after last night.

It's laying there though, letting yourself float in a world of your own discontent, that you spotted something that you hadn't noticed in your rush to get to bed, something you definitely hadn't noticed when you first woke up and for some reason, you had a sick feeling that it was because it wasn't there before your trip out. The sight of it ripped you, hiccoughing, from your pity party and sent a rippling wave of icy shock down your spine.

Sitting quite innocently on your bedside table was a small, white bottle, the label ripped clean off the front, gleaming slightly in the mid afternoon light. Tilting your head, hesitant to even touch the mystery container, you reached a hand out shakily and picked it up off the scratched wood. The contents inside rattled subtly and you unscrewed the lid to find a collection of four pale amber pills at the very bottom. Someone had been in your room.

The rational part of your brain scrambled to find a perfectly good excuse- that your parents could have left it in there knowing you were ill that morning? That maybe you had brought them upstairs and forgotten about them? But the post-it-note now uncovered on the spot the bottle had been dropped every excuse immediately.

Written in careful, swirling letters across the thin, teal note was the simple phrase.

_**'Don't say we never did anything for you.'** _

You took in a strangled gasp as though you were about to break back out into sobs once more, but the bottle remained tight in your spasmed grip and you eyes remained dry, perhaps because of the shock. They had gotten into your house. They were in your room.

Then, an even more frightful thought; 'They'. The note didn't say 'I', it was written as a collective. More than one person had snuck into your room to leave a bottle of pills and a note. A thought came to mind, yet another quote of Mrs Havenswood. 

_'"Proxies?" You let the word roll off your tongue with unfamiliarity._

_" **His**... representatives, if you will. They work under **him** , do the brunt of the work because **it** can only command the ones under **his** authority.'_

What if she was right? That you had finally managed to find yourself in the line of fire of his 'proxies'? The soulless supposed monsters that could carry out such horrific acts of violence.

Something told you their 'gift' couldn't be helpful in any way.

With a frustrated huff, you scrunched the note up into a little ball and tossed it into the plastic bin beside your desk, your eyes falling upon an open pen sat by where it had been. So, not only had they broken into your housed left you anonymous pills, but they used your own stationary to write the fucking note. You could barely hold back a scream as you threw it across the room to join the paper counterpart.

Finally, you looked upon the bottle.

Every inch of your body, your very survival instincts, screeched at you to throw it away too, or smash the pills into power and flush the remains down the toilet but for some reason... you couldn't. The white plastic bottle stayed in your closed fist, rattling slightly as your hand shook in frustration. For some, ridiculous, unknown reason, your internal battle had you kicking the bottom drawer of your bedroom table open and depositing it inside, pushing it as far back in the jumble of cables and notebooks as though you could quite literally push it out of mind.

It didn't work. Anxiety was still flowing through your system with every pump of your heart, fuelling you with a horrified rage that you couldn't tame. Rubbing your temples with the palm of your hands, you suddenly made a sporadic realisation- you could just call the police. With newfound hope, and a ponder at how you hadn't yet thought about the obvious decision, you fumbled around the bedsheets for your phone and brought it up to 'dial'.

But then...

How could you possibly explain this? That someone you don't know had hacked your laptop, sent you threatening messages, been watching you and your friends from a tree and had broken into your house to give you a friendly offering of what you could only assume to be cyanide. How could anyone possibly believe you? Or at least think that you hadn't provoked them, or that you weren't some druggie trying to come up with an excuse?

Shit.

You needed to get out.

So instead, a new thought came to mind, the gathering Sarah had mentioned the night before.

With newfound ferocity, you scrolled through your contacts until Wills name popped up and without any internal debate, you pressed his icon. The phone didn't ring for long, only enough that it had slowly fazed into a mirrored shadow of the ear splitting ringing you experienced outside Mrs Havenswood's house.

"Hello?"

Shuddering, you tried to bat away the sick sensation in your gut at its similarity.

"Hey! Will, It's me," You spluttered awkwardly, forcing a smile to show through your voice as your jaw trembled.

"Yeah... yeah I know." His response seemed strange, almost distant, but you attempted to brush it away with explanations of your paranoia.

"Well... Um, Sarah mentioned that you were doing something at yours tonight?"

A beat.

"She did?"

You bit your lip, the unusual awkwardness of the conversation sending your cheeks a-flare; not a completely unwelcome distraction from the utter carnage that your life was in at the moment.

"Uh yeah..." You tried to come up with an excuse for calling, suddenly feeling as though Will hadn't invited you for a reason. "Um, she told me but I forgot the time?"

That wasn't true in the slightest and you were a dirty fibber- Sarah had told you 7 O'clock, but you needed an excuse to be included and he hadn't done so this far. The remembrance made you feel even worse than before.

"Look, (Y/N)," His voice came across as somewhat guilty over the phone, but more so alike a hesitant explanation. "I talked to Sarah and we.. we decided it would be best if you didn't come."

You mouth went dry; could this possibly get any worse?

"What?"

"I mean," You could almost imagine him scratching the back of his head like men do when they're trying to lie or feeling particularly awkward. "After everything thats happened, and especially after that shit at the cabin-"

"How the fuck is that my fault?" You splutterred, cutting him off mid sentence. This hopefully fun night out with friends was going rapidly downhill. "You said that was a bot anyway! You _laughed_ at Clara being worried about it and then ditched _me_."

Your hands were now shaking even harder than before and one had managed to stealthily creep up to your head and to begin yanking at clumps in frustration.

"Nothing happened before you started looking into all that creepy shit!" Will fumed. "If you'd just left it alone like any normal person, we probably wouldn't be here! But instead you had to obsess over a _kid_ who died over _nine years ago_!"

He must have realised the mistake in his words the moment he said them because he suddenly came to an abrupt halt, you could only hear his heavy breathing over the phone. The word 'obsess', why did that have to be the one creeping up everywhere today?

Immediately you were thrown back into that world of anger, of confusion. That you were being blamed for this, that you were being stalked in the first place, and now that your own boyfriend and best friend had 'conspired' behind your back to decide that you couldn't even see them any more. Couldn't they see that this is impacting you far worse than they? The boiling in your blood ran so hot that you didn't even feel the blood dripping down your nose until it seeped over your lips, filling your mouth with a metallic taste. Dazedly, you smeared the red across your hand and stared down at it in shock, tidal waves of every emotion possible encasing your body. Anger, sadness, confusion, numbness and, on top of it all, the inwards desire to just laugh at its bizarreness as a whole.

"(Y/N)?" The question nearly had you there, nearly brung an exasperated laugh up your throat, but it stayed rooted in place behind everything else drowning within you.

"Fuck you," You spat, tearing the device from your ear and hanging up, before throwing it across the room. For just a moment, everything felt as though It had gone away, like your body had drifted into nothingness momentarily as you tried to comprehend everything that just happened before it all came plummeting back. Your eyes flickered to your scuffled, old laptop, plugged in at your desk, and you knew exactly what to do.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

_If you're a bit confused at the sudden changes in mind or sporadic decisions, this is wherein really getting into the readers paranoia, sleep deprivation and The Operator harnessing a connection and infiltrating their mind._

_Also I heavily imagine the next chapter to be to the theme 'Doomsday' in Doctor Who or 'The Light of the Seven' from Game of Thrones- both just give me a massive sensation of impending doom :)_


	12. Destruction

destruction

/dɪˈstrʌkʃ(ə)n/

_noun_

  1. 1\. 

the action or process of causing so much damage to something that it no longer exists or cannot be repaired. 




* * *

****

**28th May**

All you could hear was a dazed buzz as you leaned over your desk, snapped up your laptop screen and bryng up your documents. Everything you had worked so hard to find, all your investigations, and without a moments hesitation, you clicked 'delete'. It didn't even seem to hurt, the loss of what you'd tried so hard to complete, the chapters that had caused you so much pain, gone in a second. Next, you opened your emails, scrolling down to the short message from Will and did the same, followed by your entire search history. Gone, gone, gone. As far as records show, you'd never given Amelia May Havenswood a second thought after her passing, never watched a single Marble Hornets video, never even had the knowledge to research The Operator. 

All gone.

Next to come was your text messages. Every little tidbit of information, every mention of her name or your research. You knew it would take too long to go through every shared message with your friends, so you deleted the entire history, not pausing to look over the sweet, salvageable texts with Will, or funny 3am conversations with Sarah. It didn't matter anymore, none of it mattered. It all had to go.

With evening just nagging at the still blue skies, the only indication being the sun no longer poring through your open window and the slight drop in temperature, you began phase two of what you should have done from the start.

Rummaging through your wardrobe, you found your school satchel, hidden away for the summer break, and shook its contents haphazardly onto the floor with a collection of sharp thumps. You pencil case burst open, spilling stationary out over your carpet as you scavenged through the mixed paper and books. A library book on CSI, another on Tuscaloosa crime and a large, a see through purple folder filled with scribbled notes and print-outs from your time researching at school; they all got thrown into a pile in the corner. Next, you scrambled back over to your desk, grabbing anything random that could be associated with what you had done, not having the time to check through everything. You threw open your bedside draws to find your notebook, with the large symbol written in red ink scrawled across the front, and a white envelop you knew to be filled with the photos you had discovered weeks prior, evidence of the circle and X being plastered amongst so many other cases of murder and missing people. 

With one last search around your now messy room, full of scattered books, drawers and paper, you rounded up the pile you had collected, stick your phone in your back pocket, and loaded them into the now empty satchel, filling it to the complete brim. Completely satisfied that you had absolutely everything, you swung the bag over your shoulder, fixed to your hip, made one last forage through the bottom of the wardrobe to find a half empty bottle and box of matches, and headed out of your room. 

You had heard your parents leave to get some shopping done while sobbing into your pillow so you knew the house was clear to go without suspicion. Still, a sense of nervousness eloped the back of your mind as you crept down the stairs and laced up your old boots. Cycling wouldn't have been an option with your bag, so you opted to walk out of the front door, locking and double checking before you jogged down the path.

The journey wasn't long, you knew exactly where to go and how to get there. Ten minutes at most, and it felt like five with the way your heart was thumping against your ribcage like a bird scrambling to be released. The anxiety, though, was almost subdued, buried beneath the determined necessity to complete this task. You knew what you needed to do. 

As you walked, you brung a cigarette out of you pocket and stuck it between your teeth, setting it alight with a match from the box. For some reason, your exterior was completely calm. You knew what you need to do.

The sky was just beginning to turn a low orange, fading gracefully into purple. It was oddly pretty, but night dawns fast so you picked up the pace even more, power walking down the intertwining roads as quickly as you could, undisturbed by your aching legs or the sweat just beginning to prickle your skin. You knew what you needed to do.

Eventually, though it felt like no time at all, the building drew close. You crept around the side, away from curious eyes, and stroked a hand along the faded brick wall lining the place. It was tall, but James had stowed an old crate around the back months ago to get in. The place you stood is was alleyway of sorts, held in between two, thick barriers, one side belonging to the cheapest Tuscaloosa retirement home money can buy, and the other an abandoned fort of sorts. It was not big enough to be seen as a major issue by the law enforcement, so the only protection it had was the walls marking off the property and the thick, rusty chain wrapped around the wooden entrance to the grounds. You and your friends had gotten past it a long time ago, using it occasionally to explore or just sit together with drinks, trying not to make enough noise to get the police called on you.

Everything was so different now. 

The alleyway got darker the further you walked so that the space was only lit by the glow emitting from the end of your cigarette, but somehow you avoided every discarded box and bin-bag, your feet knowing exactly where to take you. The dying suns light didn't quite reach the tip of the wall, giving an uneasy divide when you looked up from darkness to bright gold. It didn't matter anyway. Eventually, you reached the rotting crate at the back and pulled it towards the bricks. Stepping up, you secured the bag against your lower back and reached up to grab the harsh, mossy stone to propel yourself up, swinging one leg over the side so that you were straddling the structure. The height didn't bother you like it normally would, you didn't care anymore. With a tad of extra effort, you pulled the other into a sitting and jump, landing with a shock wave that rippled up your legs on the other side, gravel now underfoot. 

You were so close. The building was once an unused war fort, full of ancient, broken machinery and the graffiti of rebellious youths. It wasn't technically safe to explore and it was too much work to clear the land and build something new atop the grounds for anyone to be interested in buying, so it was simply locked up and ignored. All the better for you now.

You found yourself walking round to the front of the decaying building, feet crunching under the tiny grey rocks scattered about, until you located the brittle oak door at the entrance, beams of wood snapped and hanging from the structure. That door, unlike the one pressed into the wall, was always unlocked, though incredibly stiff with age, so you kicked it open, almost relishing in the odd snap and thump of ancient panels breaking and falling to the ground. It was darker inside than outside, but the walk to the inner grounds didn't take long, just a short maze of concrete walls and broken glass.

Easy

By the time you reached the open [space ](https://www.facebook.com/1095689434117556/posts/fort-gilkickeran-amazing-explore-so-much-history-bumped-into-a-couple-who-said-t/1139609019725597/)within the crumbling walls, the sky was more a watercolour of orange and pink. Deep blue, still deprived of stars, just seeping in from the distance like an unfinished watercolour painting. The fort surrounded you in a half moon, shattered windows scattered about giving you the feeling of being watched with thick beams atop the ground floor, holding up the roof. You gave a silent shudder and averted your eyes to the now brown grass below, yanking your satchel strap above your head and holding the bag. In one swift action, you unlatched the top and let the contents spill out onto the ground, scattering in a white and brown pile on the floor, fluttering slightly in the evening breeze, not quite strong enough to blow the odd lonesome sheet away.

The long smoked-out cigarette fell from your mouth as you unscrewed the clear vodka bottle and splashed the contents across the pile haphazardly, watching it stain and flatten the whispering sheets and smudge black ink so that the words sneaking out from the mass were practically indistinguishable. Darting your head around, you checked for eager eyes, possibly even a peak of a white head or horrifying figure. To almost your disappointment, nothing came to view.

"YOU SEE THIS, FUCKERS?" You bellowed out across the empty fort, careless to the chances of neighbours hearing. Nothing mattered anymore.

In a haze, you dropped the now empty bottle, spilling fresh drops of glass that sliced at your bare shins. You didn't feel the pricks of hot pain, nor the thin lines of blood now creeping down the pale skin. Your mind went blank, nothing left to say to the empty void around you, no desire to hear your voice echo about the abandoned building.

Your hands were strangely calm, your dull eyes filled with nothing but an empty desperation to finally be rid of this, to put it aside in turn of your own wellbeing. It wasn't worth it, it never was. To put the lives of both yourself, your friends and your family as risk for a girl, dead for nine and a half years.

Your fingertips fell back on the box of matches, your (H/C) hair blowing every so gently in the cool breeze. With one, straight spasm of your hand, the needle-thin stick caught alight with a low 'hiss', casting golden flames that tickled your skin with an eery glow. You simply gazed at it for a moment, watching the little flame flutter and breathe with new life, slowly creeping down the slim match until it was just kissing your finger and thumb before you tossed it. It moved with beautiful, gentle tranquility, as though in slow motion, forming flips and spins as it arced gracefully through the air. The moment it touched the mass of paper, the whole world lit up, blowing up in a blazing bonfire of brilliant, bittersweet gold, swimming through the air. It captivated you, the beauty of an ending, the glittering yellow embers floating upwards like tiny bubbles, losing their glow way above you, and drifting back down in grey spirals, sitting on your clothes and hair like fresh snow.

You didn't notice the stray slice of paper, fluttering anxious amongst the inferno, until it slipped out from the bottom of the pile, arching upwards in perfect twists before catching under the toe of your boot. Mind still warped in captivation, you peered down and squatted to pick up the warm sheet, yellowed slightly by heat.

 **'MISSING: HAVE YOU SEEN ME?'** screamed up at you from the page, the young face of Amelia smiling sincerely, slightly greying and blurring from the fire. It snapped a cord somewhere deep within you, bringing a pang of painful guilt up your chest at the sight of her lovely eyes, kind smile. Your lips wobbled slightly as you brung a gentle finger up to stroke the paper printed with her cheek, before drawing out your arm and letting it catch alright, curling and decaying before your eyes. Her face twisted and crumbled as the small fire ate up the poster, consuming it until only the bottom scrap of scolded yellow was still visible before you let it fly, turning away from the bonfire as it fell softly to the drying grass. You knew what you had to do and you did it, everything was gone.

The walk back seemed more tiring than that to get there. The wall seemed so much higher and you had to scrabble up the side with no aid to hop back over. Your hair and clothes reeked of smoke and you realised while exciting the alleyway that you had no reasonable excuse to carry an empty satchel around with you for no particular reason and had to dump it under the crate for fear of your parents asking questions upon your return. You hoped to be able to retrieve it when you could be sure that your parents would be out for the day, but made the quiet acceptance that you would have to most likely buy another before the autumn term.

It didn't matter though, not anymore. Perhaps it was the lack of heavy notebooks weighing down your body, but you felt almost lighter as you took your time returning, watching the now deepening blue sky as it began to twinkle with its first stars of the night. You thought about how your friends were in Wills garden right now, probably laughing and drinking, but it held no importance in contrast to what you had finally just done; that could be you in no longer than a weeks time. Going back to mental and physical freedom felt like a bliss you were just about grasping, growing ever closer with every step. You could only hope that whatever, or whoever, was following you had acknowledged your dramatic display and decided to back out, knowing you to have no plans to ever return to your research. Your phone buzzed a few times in your pocket as you near your house, switching between short blips and long vibrations against your outer thigh but you didn't want to check it just just now, relishing in your new liberation. 

That is, until you returned home.

Your parents didn't berate you for being out late, or at all, with your simple excuse of a 'short walk to clear your head', and there was a bounce in your step as you went about making a bowl of quick noodles in the kitchen to eat upstairs. You hummed softly as you stirred and strained the light meal before climbing the stairs, checking your phone as you went.

_7:34pm : WillHton - Did you delete all our messages?_

_**7:35pm : Missed call from WillHton** _

_8:26pm : WillHton - It wasn't that serious babe, will you just call me_

**_8:26pm : Missed call from WillHton_ **

_8:50pm : WillHton - Jesus, stop being childish, please just pick up_

_8:59pm : SarahPriv17 - hey, r u ok??_

Sighing as you entered your room, you put the bowl of noodles down on your bedside table and opted to message them back tomorrow, they could wait with all the 'fun' they were having together. You picked your laptop up off the desk and dropped it lightly on your bed before shifting to flip the duvet cover open, dropping your phone on the ground in the process and stumbling back.

"Nononono, _shit_ , no," You mumbled, eyes searching across the room to see your window locked tight before falling back onto your bed.

What was before tucked neatly under the sheets now laid plain out for all to see; A silver dagger. The hilt held layered arcs in shades of brilliant, glimmering gold, encrusted with large blue stones that glowed in a strangely pearly way despite the soft light. The blade itself was a shining, deadly silver, attached to the handle with thin loops of gold that wrapped from the first inch or so to the shield, similar sky blue stones embedded into the metal. Next to it was a similarly thin scabbard, made of hard leather, tinged pink with age, the same waves of swirling gold lightly encasing it.

Such a beautiful creation shouldn't hold such dark motives, this was wrong. You hadn't been able to break the wheel, it was still spinning ruthlessly and **you were still a pawn in their game**. You approached the craft carefully, as though scared it might explode, and noticed the note weighed down beneath it. Slipping it out from underneath, you were aware that it was once again written atop your own post-it-note, though in a far messier scrawl than before, as though the writers hand had jumped a couple times mid-word.

**_'Just because you're my favourite 🙂_ **

**_Lets play a game - the blade has a sister_ **

**_come find her._ **

**_P.S. Snitches get stitches'_ **

_✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧_

_I don't usually use pictures for my chapters but I wanted to show you how I thought the blade would look- If there are any artists out there I will happily publish your rendition of it as I know my own isn't amazing 😅_

_I've also created a book playlist which I've attached a link to- I will add more songs to fit her characterisation as the story goes on but I don't wanna give too much away ;) For the most part its classical songs that I think would run with the writing and give off the same vibe, but there are some lyrical ones that I believe sum up the reader or storyline too :)_

_Thank you!_


	13. Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the wait!
> 
> I have been obsessing over attack on titan recently and have spent my time for this fic editing and rewriting the first few chapters to be better constructed and in past tense rather than present, simply because it makes my job easier as a writer. 
> 
> It's been a ball-ache with lockdown and college but I am doing my best and will try to get the next chapter out by next week! Thank you to anyone reading and commenting it really means the world to me :)

friend

/frɛnd/

_noun_

  1. 1\. 

a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations.




* * *

**29th May**

It was needless to say that you didn't sleep soundly that night, hiding in a mess of blankets that were still in dire need of a wash. For hours you tossed and turned, windows shut and double checked and your chair haphazardly bent against your door in the hopes of warding out potential 'proxies' from entering your room uninvited. Your desk lamp was on and blaring, casting a bright yellow light against your walls, making the shadows of the mess still coating the floor in piles look scarily like people. You found yourself jumping every time your eyes landed on a heap looking oddly like a leg or torso up until about half one, when you eventually dragged yourself up and made a start on clearing it all up, muttering like a mad woman. It was oddly therapeutic to hang up clothes spewed about and attempt to organise the papers clustered and ripped on your floor; tidy room, tidy mind, right? 

Still, though, your eyes snapped up in alert at even the tiniest of noises, swirling the room in the chance that someone had somehow managed to teleport straight in, ready to put a bullet in your head or just give you a really bad headache again. At that point in the game you weren't really sure which you would prefer.

By the time you had finished gathering everything up and loading it back into its respective home, your clunky old alarm clock was flashing a mocking '2:54A.M' at you, casting a dim red light over the sparkling silver blade you had decided to leave atop your bedside table. You had, up until this point, managed to completely avoid eye contact with the dreaded thing, but it is now that you needed to inevitably find somewhere to put it so that you wouldn't be glaring at the damned thing for the rest of the night. You'd long since crumpled its adjoining note into a hateful ball and thrown it in the trashcan.

As quickly as you could, you grasped the handle and sheath in each hand, momentarily mesmerised by the cool blue rippling from the jewels encrusted within, feeling the perfect weight of the dagger before jamming it hastily within its leather bindings, kicking open the same bedside drawer you had dumped the bottle of pills and letting it clatter to the bottom with a resounding ' _thump_ '. 'Out of sight, out of mind' didn't seem to quite fill out its intended purpose but it was the best you could do while confined to your room. When you finally made the decision to re-wrap yourself back into bed, the last time you read before clamping your eyes shut was 3:10AM, so could be worse.

The later morning came with possibly even more anxiety than before you fell asleep, being that Sarah had decided to grace your lay in with a blaring phone call at half past nine; far too early for your sleep deprived mind, but it wasn't exactly like you were going to end up getting back to sleep now.

With a groggily moan, you propped yourself up onto your side and grabbed your cell from the table beside you, dimming down the brightness as soon as the white light hit your eyes. After a quick attempt to clear your throat of sleep, you pressed the green 'accept call' button, turned it on speaker and threw yourself back down, letting your eyes slide shut again.

"(Y/N)?" Sarahs voice filled the room, far too loud, but you were far too comfortable to roll back over and turn down the volume. The pitched sound brung a throb to your oversensitive eyes, crackling awkwardly as they tried to adjust to noise.

"Yeah?" You croaked back, debating whether to throw a pillow over your head or the phone, still trying to bring yourself back to reality. God, you needed more sleep than you were getting.

"Jesus," She breathed out a sigh, distorted by her microphone resulting in an even more painful crackle. "You really worried me last night, what happened?"

"Uhh.." Trying to bring your muddled thoughts back to last night was a challenge, especially with the morning roaring in your ears and your eyes still adjusting to the bright light. Pills, Amelia, burning, dagger. Fuck.

"Oh!" You made a calculated exclamation as though you had just remembered some important slice of information that your sleep clogged brain just recalled, scrambling to come up with an excuse for never getting back to her.

But... could you just tell her the truth? Would you sound even crazier than you already had if you explained everything, from start to finish? You knew that she already believed you, that she was struggling with the events spotted about through the past few days too, and at least you wouldn't be alone in the sudden drastic change of pace from the things stalking you.

You were just opening your mouth, ready to spill everything that had gotten you so little sleep, when another memory resurfaced in your brain, 'Snitches get stitches'. Such a stereotypical threat, but still one that filled your bones with icy dread. You had made the basic deduction that the first and second notes were written by different people, then that the bottle had to be a group of at least two, 'Never say **we** never did anything for you'. The dagger, however, was from from one person, 'just because you're MY favourite'. Was the threat to be taken as if you told his companion/s? Or if you told your friends?

No, surely it meant everyone. The dagger had to stay between you and 'them', frustrating because it was possibly more concerning than the pills, but you had to stay quiet. This 'gift' had bought your silence without you even being a part of the deal and it made you feel sick to your stomach. 

There was a very good possibility that the pills held the same unspoken threat so, pursing your lips, you told her the only truth (white lie) you possibly could give the situation.

"I'm sorry I deleted our texts, I was getting rid of evidence." Okay, not the best way to put it, especially given the shocked silence on the other end of the line

You slammed a hand onto your idiotic head upon realising just how fishy that sounded, and began to rephrase. "I mean with Amelia, I dumped my research and wanted to get rid of the conversations about her too."

Sarah was still quiet for a moment, presumably mulling over the dramatic measures you had taken, or trying to work out if you really are mental or not. "Okay..." She eventually drawled. "Why?" Despite the perfectly viable question, her tone made your blood boil only a little, as though you were stupid or said something completely ridiculous. As though deleting your messages and burning a pile of evidence that had taken you months to pile up was an abnormal thing for you to do. Right.

'Don't mention the pills, don't mention the dagger', you thought, scrambling for the right thing to say to keep both her and your stalkers happy. 

"I just thought it would be best, you know? With cleverbot and those messages and everything." Honestly, it felt like weeks since your first major occurrence of something strange going on, and the internet interaction seemed a million times less horrifying than the full blown dagger sitting in your draw next to an innocent bottle of probably illegal drugs.

"Did Will tell you to do that?" Suddenly, even more memories floated into the front of your mind; Will getting mad at you, telling you not to go to his with the others, his 'decision' with Sarah that it would be best if you stayed home. Vague anger began to bubble through your entire body as you tried to refrain yourself from calling her out- what business did your best friend and boyfriend have to exclude you?

"Not exactly," You practically deadpanned, willing the conversation to come to an end, now fully awake and pissed. You weren't sure you have the mental willpower for another argument, not with everything else going on in your life right now, but it would sure be nice to take some of the frustration out on someone.

"Okay..." Sarah drew out the word as though she was hoping for you to say something else, hanging onto the edge of every word as though you were about to explode. You didn't give her the satisfaction. "Right, well, I gotta go. I'll see you later?"

"Bye," You hung up, contemplating the call for a moment before throwing your head back down against the pillow with a sigh. There just always had to be something, huh?

It was late enough in the morning that your sheer curtains blew slightly in the soft breeze outside, peaking streaks of pale pink and gold through the break between fresh air and glass as the suns light spilled in from the sky. You wanted more than anything to just let your eyelids slide shut and get a few more hours sleep, but you were awake now and you highly doubted it was an option anymore with your overactive, and now pissed off, mind. 

Clambering out of the comforts of your bed, you took a quick stretch before stripping the duvet and sheets completely and bundling the linen in a light pile to wash. You had gone one night in disgusting layers out of necessity, but there was no way in hell you were letting yourself go through another. Being a victim of stalking and reverse robbery is no excuse to succumb to sweaty sheets. Sliding on your slippers, you kicked the chair blocking the door out of the way and used your elbow to awkwardly hold the handle down and swing it open, hitting your shoulder as it goes. You huffed at the collision before readjusting the pile in your arms, making your way down the stairs carefully with your vision obstructed slightly.

It didn't take long to load up the washing machine, only a few cusses and a kick to the stupid metal box that, even after almost eighteen years of life, you hadn't figured out how to use. Eventually though, the wheel inside started spinning and it let out a few concerning pangs and splutters before you felt safe leaving it is its own devices.

While waiting for your bedding to wash, and noticing you had the house to yourself for the moment, you set about a comfortable morning task, having skipped most meals and rituals in favour of worrying over the whole 'stalking business'. You filled up the kettle and flicked it on with a song click, watching the glass light up an electric blue as the water inside bubbled, filling the kitchen with a somewhat satisfying rumble as you grabbed a mug and threw in a teaspoon of sugar and a teabag. Coffee when attempting to calm your hyperactive brain down didn't seem like an incredible idea, so you stuck with the softer drink, pouring in the boiled water and milk until it was a healthy, soft ochre. Steam rose in swirling, transparent white through the air, lit by the streams of sunlight pouring in through the window, and you went about making breakfast as you waited for it to cool.

One of the benefits of having your mother is that she liked to make easy, healthy(ish) foods that you could just stick in the refrigerator and slap together later, so you busied yourself with combining greek yoghurt, mashed berries, honey and granola into a bowl. Its not often that you were particularly healthy, living mostly off ramen and pasta for the simplicity of it, but putting even the slightest effort into a meal made you feel somewhat good about the day, slathering layers of sweet dairy across the aching dread in your stomach like it would block it all out somehow.

Collapsing on the frayed sofa with your breakfast and decently cool tea, you went about the motions of a quiet morning; Flicking on the TV, scrolling through the channels, shovelling food down your face. The usual. And by the time the washing machine pang to let you know your sheets had finished cleaning, you were on your second mug and deeply immersed in David Attenborough.

With a deep sign, now fully energised and watching a high stakes battle between a cool looking bird and an angry squirrel, you pulled yourself up and dragged the sopping laundry out of the machine, letting it drop into a basket. You brought it up to rest on your hip, one hand against the handle, and manoeuvred yourself to the door, edging outside into the fresh, late morning air.

The breeze rippled through your hair as you stepped into the garden, dry grass tickling beneath your feet as you stumbled over to the washing line. On any usual day, you would opt for a fight with the dryer. You would probably lose, but hanging up sheets was always an unwelcome task. Today, however, was a bright, casually warm day; warm enough to feel the sun whispering across your face and shoulders, but cool enough to be able to enjoy the outside comfortably. 

Humming, you dropped the basket on the floor and brought out a pillow case, letting it whip a little in the light wind before throwing it over the line and clipping in into place. You did the same to its sisters before swinging the line around so that another side faced you, heaving up your duvet cover to ease out a few wrinkles before pulling it over the new lines.

Everything went in slow motion, just a small glimpse as the white sheet flew up past your head and into place. Peeping over the fence, bright red eyes set on you unwaveringly, was a figure. You only saw a brief moment, just a glance of a head with a horrifying, sorrowful frown before the duvet cover lay loosely. You eyes stayed wide, searching for the face, too scared to run over to the fence and peep your own head over. With a sick feeling twisting amongst the contents of your stomach, you spun the line around once more, threw the final sheet over haphazourdly so that it didn't even lay straight, and opted for a mad dash into the house, abandoning the pegs littered about to keep the sheets in place.

You had to get away from home, you needed to leave. There was no way in hell you were staying there with that... thing watching you.

How long had they been there for? Were they waiting from the moment you woke up? Watching from the fence, they would have gotten a good view straight into the kitchen you'd been casually going around.

'Probably.' You crinkled your nose as the grim thought.

Your used mug and bowl stayed on the coffee table in front of the TV, and you had no interest in taking the time to wash them up. You had to get out, there was no way in hell you could stay here for any longer.

With sense of near desperation, you clambered up the stairs and to your room, brushing your teeth as you pulled out suitable clothes for the day. You didn't care much about what they looked like; A black skort, good for riding your bike, and a cute (F/C) top, covered with a light grey denim jacket you had littered with your favourite band pins and, really, the worst quotes and sayings you could find over the years. You pulled a belt around your waist and did it up comfortably , before grabbing your 'going out' bag. In truth, it was nothing special, just a black, fake leather mini satchel that swung over your shoulders, but it was cute and didn't get in the way when riding. You'd also 'lost' your other one. A matching purse was thrown in, along with your keys, though just as you were leaving, you made an inexplicable decision.

Turning, you rushed to your bedside table and fumbled in the bottom draw, pulling out the formidable dagger you had stored there. You barely glanced at it, not even entirely sure why you wanted to bring it, but as much as you hated to think you had been receiving help from whatever horror movie entity was following you, the idea of having a weapon with you set your mind at ease.

Finding it had a little loop in the leather confines, you unlatched your belt and pushed it through, letting it rest against your side, hidden safe under your jacket. You were sure as hell that carrying around a dagger, that certainly was above 2 inches and not necessarily a multi-tool device, was probably not entirely legal, but if Americas Kent State gun girl, Kaitlin Bennet, could go to University with an AR-10 rifle slung over her shoulder just for the shits and gigs, you weren't about to hold back.

With one last look around the room, you made your way to lock and double check every door and window in the house, giving a nervous glance outside each glass pane that you crossed, before pulling on your boots and grabbing your bike.

Coffee would be a nice little excursion for the day.

_✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ⨂ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧_


	14. Failure

failure

/ˈfeɪljə/

_noun_

  1. 1\. 

lack of success.




* * *

The nicest coffee shop nearby in Tuscaloosa was no landmark by any means. Standing on a corner in town, it had a grand total of about ten tables, a dusty baked goods display case, and a collection of two depressed teenagers managing the orders. The interior was made up of browns and whites in a pretence of chic class, but the paint job was scratched and peeling and the furniture scuffed. To hell if they didn't whip up a damn good coffee though, despite appearances.

Wheeling your bike into the rack outside and locking it into place, you made your way into the establishment, an old bell atop the door chiming charismatically to signal your arrival. You made brief eye contact with the cashier on duty, a man of about 18 with a sheet of thick, black hair covering one eye and a lip piercing, before padding over to the counter to observe the selection of cakes. If you were being honest with yourself, you weren't overly in the mood for sweet treats, your stomach still in knots and too warm from your cycle to be hungry, but it kept you occupied as you collected an order in your head, well away of the piercing glare coming from the barista. Just the site of the crusty, yellowish icing piped in swirls across the cakes brought a sick wave up your throat. Drumming your fingers atop the counter, you offered the man your sweetest smile.

"One caramel frap please."

Scoffing, he grunted in response and signalled his coworker, a younger looking bubbly girl, to begin. The name badge, crooked on his uniform jacket read _'Raven'_ in a gothic font and you made the instant observation that he was a blatant, edgy liar. Probably called 'Hubert' or something else not-quite-gothic enough. You wouldn't normally be so internally rude, but you could see the judgement of your caramel frap in his lined eyes and he wasn't getting away with that.

"Anything else?" 'Raven' droned, tapping the cash register absentmindedly.

"No."

"Aight, that'll be $7.49."

You narrowed your eyes, peering at the metal box in-front of him. The smirk on his face told you instantly that he took a lot of pleasure out of making you pay so much for a simple coffee. Fucking dick.

"Uh.. sure," You huffed reluctantly, ruffling in your bag for your purse. Your fingers brushed against something smooth in your search, but you didn't register it, pulling out your purse and handing him a crisp $10 note.

After handing back your change and drink without so much as a 'have a good day', you took the coffee and found a vacant one-seater by the front window of the shop, giving you easy viewing access to the street outside. It eased your anxiety a little, being able to see everybody coming inside or waiting out; a perfect opportunity to spy on possible stalkers, as well as your bike. 

The caramel frap did nothing to soothe your nerves, but it felt nice to be around people in a public environment, where nothing particularly bad could happen to you under the protection of a crowd. Eventually, taking small sips of your overpriced drink, you began to merely 'people-watch', quite enjoying the act of simply observing.

You caught a plump woman with a little dog try to yell at a group of skateboarding teens, a red faced man in a business suit rushing to work, two people, too far across the street to make out, seemingly catch up, one in a blinding yellow hoodie....

You didn't notice it as first, too immersed with the outside world, but a creeping ache had begun to settle in your skull, slowly worsening. It was only when you narrowed your eyes, the bright sun outside suddenly piercing through the glass, that the first wave of real pain washed through you, running from your head to your chest and blooming there. Your coffee cup rattled as you dropped it back into its saucer, bringing a palm up to your temple as you squeezed your eyes shut.

Oh god, not right now.

It could have just been a sugar rush, perhaps the bubbly girl who made the drink added a little too much syrup, or maybe even coffee. 

The bubbling in your throat warned you otherwise.

You wanted to drink something, clear your pipes of the clawing that was beginning to take place, but the thought of the innocently sweet coffee before you made you feel even worse, and your eyes were still clamped tightly shut. Navigating your way back to the counter for some water felt akin to running a marathon, your body trapped in place like stone.

Taking a few, short coughs so as not to alert those around you, you brought your other hand up to rub the skin on your neck, eyes beginning to water. The pain only got worse.

It was as though you had run out of air, trapped deep underwater, watching the sky so far above the surface as you drifted further down. It was agony, hair curling washes of fire streaming from your scalp down to your lungs and settling there, barring the entrance and exit for fresh air.

The ringing was igniting, blurring out the voices of other customers as you fought the pain for dominance, and it was so loud you barely registered the alarming dings and vibrations of your phone.

You wouldn't normally have cared, opting to ignore the device in favour of focusing your energy on your current predicament, but something screamed at you to open it, to see what it was trying so badly to tell you.

With crippling effort, you tore your eyelids open to the blinding light of the screen. One single message was displayed several times, all from the same number. It plastered the length of your phone, taking up the notifications bar entirely, and every one read the same.

'Check your bag.'

You didn't ignore it. Throwing the phone back onto the table, you picked your bag up from the floor and threw its contents about the wooden surface. The purse fell with a dull, jingled thump, but that wasn't what caught your interest. 

You had to throw out your hand to stop the bottle from rolling off the table, but the light clattering from within told you what it was without having to look at it. A note had fallen beside it, bright and bold and yellow, burning your eyes. _'Don't be shy. One pill per episode.'_

In hindsight, it was a stupid idea. You had known it was a stupid idea when you first saw that damned bottle, and you knew it was a stupid idea now. Nevertheless, you spiralled off the cap and swallowed a single pill dry. You didn't even think about your previous notions of them being cyanide; a clever way to trick you into killing yourself. You didn't care. The pain was too much to handle, too much to have any cohesive thought other than to do anything to make it stop.

And stop it did.

You pondered for a moment whether you really were dying, for the ringing numbed immediately, quickly followed by the burning cough. It still tingled in your throat, giggling from deep within its confines, but it was enough to manage. You didn't even notice your headache falling through you into nothing, but it was gone by the time you registered the other symptoms.

Had those stalkers actually... helped you?

The overall sickness of the experience didn't scamper so quickly, nausea settling in your stomach as a reminder from the episode, but you didn't mind it in the slightest in comparison to the uncontrollable pain of just a few seconds before. 

Taking a gulp of air, relieved at its cool sweetness, you moved both of your hands to rub along your face tiredly, slumping forward with your elbows against the table for support. You couldn't keep doing this. The sudden onslaught left you entirely exhausted, craving nothing but your bed, and yet you didn't want to go home.

One thing was certain though - you had to leave that damned shop. While the slightly stale air inside was refreshing, it was nothing alike the cool breeze outside. Your skin was covered in a thin layer of cold sweat, your mind warm and tired. Taking one last stabilising breath, you moved your hands away and noticed the streak of blood running down your palms. Instinctually, you brought a thumb up to your nose, feeling a wet warmth slide across it as you ran the digit atop your upper lip. It didn't shock you so much this time around, only feeling like a mild inconvenience in comparison, but still an unwelcome one.

Sighing, you wiped the blood away to the best of your ability, hoping none had landed on your shirt, and moved to collect the discarded items from your bag, loading it up to go on your way. However, as you pushed your purse and bottle back inside, you felt a crinkling from within, something papery that had gotten caught on your fabric when throwing everything else across the table. With a frown, you pulled it out into the light and the nausea worsened.

Screaming at you in faded, bold print was, 'MISSING: HAVE YOU SEEN ME?', followed by the grainy image of young Amelia. With widened eyed and your breath stuck in your throat, you flipped the poster over to see, written in the same font as that on the bottle, _'You really thought it would be that easy?'_

They were talking about the burning, they had to be. They knew that you had destroyed your research in an attempt to distance yourself from them and, in turn, have them lose interest in you. This was their way of telling you the game was still on, that your sacrifice meant nothing. Your fingers tightened against the paper, crinkling it as they flexed into fists. The pure shock of it, even despite the bottle being in your possession without putting it there yourself, and the dagger from the night before, had you horrified. Even those little details, hints at their continued interest, hadn't confirmed that they were still playing, _truly_ playing with your life.

It had been for nothing.

"Hey stranger."

The voice had you jumping nearly out of your skin, rushing to shakily push the poster back into your bag in possibly the most suspicious way possible. Eyes darting upwards, you were met with the man from the movies, the one who had approached you for no particular reason to just be generally creepy. What was his name?

He frowned at your alarmed expression, easy smile dropping from his face as dark eyes surveyed you. "Hey, are you okay?"

Your brain scrambled for words, mouth suddenly drying. This was too nice, far too welcoming for a near stranger, somebody you had talked to once in passing. Finally, you came to your senses.

"Yeah, sorry," Laughing shakily, you moved to stand up from your chair. Even at your height height, he was alarmingly tall, looking down on you. You shivered. "Just scared me a little."

"I seem to be good at that."

The creepy comment had your mind reeling as you forced out another dry laugh, swinging your bag over your shoulder. The look in his dark eyes told you to run, screaming, to the hills. It shouted hunger. You made a mental note of his appearance, even just to settle your overactive mind. You couldn't be too careful at the moment, anybody could have been a stalker. Your paranoia was alarming, he could have just been a weird guy, but he was the strangest you had met in a while.

Red and black plaid shirt, tan jacket, thick sideburns. You doubted anything else would embed itself in your mind with your anxiety running like fuel, so you made sure to pick up on the most defining features.

Tim! That was his name.

He was still silent, either bathing in the glory of saying something that rendered you speechless or feeling progressively more awkward at your silence. You decided to speak up.

"Sorry, I'm just jumpy, _Tim."_

It didn't come out the way you wanted it too, sounding more forced than necessary, but you slipped in his name nonetheless, hoping to unnerve him just a little. It seemed to have no effect, though his eyes glinted slightly, almost with excitement.

"No worries, (Y/N)."

So two could play at this game. His gruff voice did a far better job at intimidating than yours and you doubted you were able to keep the shock and mild fear off your face at his words. This guy had to be joking, just completely oblivious to any social etiquette, but it all seemed far too serious for you.

"Right, anyways," Drawling, you made to scamper around him, heading for the exit he was currently blocking. "I was just leaving, nice to see you again."

The words rushed unnaturally from your mouth but you didn't particularly care. You would have done anything just then to just get out of that situation, far away from weirdo Tim and any other possible creeps wondering around.

His voice side-tracked you, not expecting him to speak again.

"Don't you want your coffee?"

Turning, you noticed the still half drunk Frappuccino sat on the table and looked between him and the drink suspiciously. You wanted to just say 'no' and bolt, but that would perhaps be too rude, even for him. Your hand shot out, snatching the cup with a tight smile before turning once again, not even daring to look behind you. He didn't move back as you grabbed it, chest brushing your shoulder as you slipped between him and the table.

The door was a welcome site, completely unbarred by freakishly tall weirdos with no concept of personal space. You opened it thankfully and darted outside.

**_Thump._ **

Perhaps you spoke too soon. You coffee went spiralling to the ground to dump cold milk across your boots, and you looked up to see the new man you had collided with.

He stood possibly even taller than Tim, you walking head first into his chest, though his eyes held only concern. 

"Shit, I'm so sorry." The strangers voice was soft, free of the grunt that came with years of smoking, and a light pattern of stubble ran from the bottom of his chin up to his buzzed down, dirty blonde hair. He was sort of cute, despite his imposing height, but you weren't really in the mood to appreciate a man for his beauty.

"No, It's my fault," Your voice was still slightly shaky as you scanned his form, hoping against hope that you hadn't managed to spill your coffee down his front, doubting brown would go well with his bright yellow hoodie. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," He breezed with a soft smile, captivating you with his gaze. It took a moment before you averted your own, blushing slightly. God, (Y/N), get a grip.

He peered behind you, an easy feat considering his immense height, and narrowed his eyes slightly. "Was that guy bothering you?" Looking backwards, you immediately caught onto what had caught his vision. Tim was sitting at the table you had vacated, watching the two of you with steely interest. You blood went cold.

"Oh, uh, no," You scrambled, keen to tear your eyes from his and wanting nothing more than to put as much distance as possible between the two of you. "Don't worry about it."

"Well if you're sure," The guy said, frowning a little. "Can I at least pay for a new drink?" He gestured to the floor, covered in a thin layer of spilled coffee, but the kind offer fell through you.

"Oh, no thanks," You shrugged sheepishly, already backing away. "It was my fault." You had absolutely no plans on drinking it anyway. You needed an icy bottle of water, or perhaps a strong vodka coke.

"If you're sure?"

You simply waved him off, turning with the kindest, forced smile possible as you left him at the entrance. It felt slightly mean, ignoring his kindness in the rudest way possible, but it was a necessary evil. You needed to get away from that damned shop _now._

It was only when you were about to turn into a new street that you looked back. The light reflecting off the window meant you couldn't see Tim anymore, but the stranger in the yellow hoodie still stood outside the door, watching as you left.

* * *

**THIS DEPRESSED BITCH FINALLY UPDATED! I HOPE ITS ALRIGHT!**

**_'is that guy bothering u, queen?'_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Threats Of Violence playlist: open.spotify.com/playlist/4d10lMcXJSKgtic7xiNAif?si=W1RXkbUpTji0DyCcOZgGHA
> 
> The top songs are classical, the bottom are lyrical.
> 
> Momento Mori


End file.
